


Crown of Teeth, Heart of Flesh

by Porphyrios



Series: Crown of Teeth [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dwarven Politics, Erebor, Every Culture Has Its Dark Corners, Historian Bilbo, Internalized Homophobia, Lots of Obscure References for Tolkien Nuts, M/M, No Smaug, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Racism, Really just a Middle Earth romp, Silmarillion - Freeform, Slow Burn, Warning: Exceptionally Pissy Elves, journeying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-01-30 23:16:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 34
Words: 165,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21436309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Porphyrios/pseuds/Porphyrios
Summary: When Bilbo is surprised by a dwarf at the door, he remembers some advice Gandalf gave him.  He takes the advice, though he really doesn't want to, and ends up seeing things he never would have believed with people he never would have thought to befriend.  The further he goes from home, the less he recognizes his surroundings... or himself.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Series: Crown of Teeth [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1713004
Comments: 586
Kudos: 747





	1. Chapter 1

Bilbo Baggins was not often shocked. Life in the Shire was gentle and pleasant, and one day eased into the next without all the storm and drama that seemed sadly common in the rest of the world. People in the Shire came visiting at normal hours. Everyone knew how to behave, for the most part (though occasionally drunken Hobbit youths acted like drunken youths everywhere). As an historian, Bilbo was hardly in some profession like medicine or law where someone would turn up at odd hours with even odder problems. This night, however, had already started off badly. His scones had unaccountably failed to cook; after quite sufficient time, he opened the ovenside door to see perfectly formed scones which turned out to contain nothing but raw and gooey dough. He had made these scones at least once a week for years! Stranger than odd. Further, Bilbo's favorite teacup, a quite elegant Fornost Bramble patterned one that had belonged to his mother, had slipped from his hands for no discernible reason and met the stone flags in the kitchen with horrifying results. The final straw was the loud pounding on the door as he was on his knees, unsure whether to cry or curse as he fished the final fragments of shattered china out of the cracks in the flags. That understood, he was perhaps less graceful than he might have otherwise been.

"What is it?" He practically shouted as he yanked the door open. Bilbo was not often shocked, but when he opened a door expecting a neighbor or a drunken Hobbiton friend or (worst of all possible worlds) perhaps one of the Sackville-Bagginses, he was astonished to see a dwarf standing in his entryway. Easily a head taller than any hobbit, the round, green door was a bit short for him. Luxuriant silver-streaked dark hair poured in a waterfall over quite broad shoulders, covering a dark blue coat lined with some sort of fur. On the coat, barely visible in the evening gloom, an embroidered raven clutched an oak branch. Wide blue eyes the color of robins' eggs stared at Bilbo in what seemed to be shock from above a short, dark beard, and the shock in those eyes reminded him of... just how rude he had been. Oh dear. "I mean... I beg your pardon." With a sinking sensation, he realized that his voice was squeaking. Fully flustered now, the little historian felt a blush rising on his cheeks. With a start, he discovered that he was wringing his hands like his Aunt Buttercup. "Good heavens. May I help you?"

The dwarf shook himself from his stare and cleared his throat. "My apologies for the disturbance, good hobbit. I seek Master Baggins, the historian." Bilbo felt a bit flustered at the dwarf's rich baritone voice.

"I... Well, you've found him. Me, I mean. Oh, goodness me, where are my manners, please come in." Bilbo was suddenly, overwhelmingly aware of the smudges on his knees from where he had been on the kitchen floor fishing out fragments, the worn spots in his shirt, and the realization that he wasn't wearing anything close to what would be considered proper receiving clothes. The dark-haired dwarf ducked his head as he came in the door. Bilbo was surprised to see the handle of a large sword protruding from above his visitor's shoulder. Nobody ever went armed in the Shire. Why on earth would they? "Bilbo Baggins, at your service."

"Thorin Oa... Thorin, son of Thrain, at yours and your family's," responded the dwarf. Blue eyes glanced curiously around the dimly lit hallway, taking in the hat stands and doily-covered end tables, the polished steel mirror in its carved frame, the unlit candle sconces. The curving wooden beams overhead gave the illusion of vaulting, but the ceiling remained low and hobbit-sized, uncomfortably close to the crown of Thorin's head. Heavy iron-capped boots made a rucked mess of the braided rag rug on the flagstones underfoot. The dwarf looked as out of place in the comfortable hobbit hole as a fish would look in a garden.

"Please, come in, have a seat, if you'd like I can fetch us some tea, or perhaps..." the hobbit babbled, still feeling completely off kilter. Bilbo waved Thorin into a sitting room. A cheerful fire was crackling in the grate with two comfortable armchairs set before it, but the dwarf was immediately captivated by the profusion of small metal items strewn about atop a large desk. Seeing his interest, Bilbo said "Ah... those are from a recent project, I'm working to identify and catalog them. For the museum in Michel Delving, you know. They all came from the grounds of a ruined gatehouse on the Old Road near Bree, mostly late Second and early Modern Age North Kingdom work. Most of them anyway. This piece here..." Bilbo poked an oddly-shaped scrap of metal gently with one fingertip, seeming to be iron but with an odd blue tinge. "I have no idea what it is."

Thorin took the metal fragment in his thick fingers and turned it for a moment, then held it up and, with great solemnity, tasted it. Bilbo watched transfixed as the tip of a very pink tongue touched the blackened surface, then withdrew. "It is Dwarven make, long-ago tradecraft from my close kin in Kh... that is to say, Moria. What sort of item it was a part of, I cannot tell from so small a piece, but the mixture of metals is unmistakable. This was from a piece made to be traded to Men." The dwarf's face was grim as he stared at the scrap twirling slowly in his hands. "Such a tiny thing to survive a loss so vast." He set it down and sighed deeply, then looked up from beneath his brows at Bilbo, who was frozen and staring. "My apologies, Master Baggins. Dwarves are easy to remind of times when we have been done wrong, and the loss of Durin's home is a wrong every clan still feels very deeply indeed."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Bilbo said automatically, falling back on the Shire habit of apologizing though he had no idea for what, "I greatly appreciate your assistance, though! Terribly useful. I will make a note of what you told me." He scrabbled for a moment among the notes and parchments, finally seizing up a quill and dipping it in a convenient inkwell then dashing off a few lines. "Would you care for tea? Or some other refreshment? I have a lovely three-berry tart, if you'd..."

"No." The hobbit rocked back a bit at the forcefulness of the refusal, and Thorin hung his head and rubbed at his eyes. "My apologies again, Master Baggins. It seems I am more tired than I had thought. I fear that left unchecked, I shall spend the entire night offending and apologizing in turn." A wry glance and quirk of the lips left Bilbo speechless. "Perhaps I should risk more rudeness and come directly to the point. You have quite the reputation as the best historian west of Rivendell, and there are rumors that you have... special skills." Bilbo's stomach sank. Wonderful, he thought sourly. This again.

"Well," the hobbit replied in a very cross voice, "I suppose I should have known by the hour, though you are certainly the first would-be treasure hunter to give me anything useful." He waved vaguely at the parchment containing the notes on the metal fragment, but did not look away from the set face of the dwarf standing before him. "I'm not interested." Bilbo crossed his arms and put on what he thought of as his 'no nonsense' face, though honestly others would say it made him look a bit constipated. He flapped his hands at Thorin, attempting to shoo him out the door like a wayward chicken. "Now just run along, sorry I couldn't help, but it's really rather late." Thorin's face was stricken, but his words were strong and clear.

"Please, at least let me explain." Despite Bilbo's insistent gestures, the dwarf placed his sword beside a chair and sat down without, Bilbo thought disgustedly, so much as a by-your-leave! Sighing, Bilbo perched himself on the edge of a chair. Clearly he wasn't going to be permitted to escape the sales pitch, but he was so tired of these greedy artifact seekers. "You know much of the history of Men and Hobbits, it seems, and some of the stories and tales of the Elves. How much do you know of the history of my people?"

"Not a great deal, I'm afraid." Bilbo was curious in spite of himself. Dwarves were ridiculously close-lipped about everything to do with their culture, their language, their history... anything that didn't happen in front of others might as well not have happened at all. "The only dwarf I have met properly is Freki the blacksmith in Bree. I've heard of Moria, though to be honest mostly to do with their friendship with the elves of Hollin. But beyond that, and some mentions in the Elvish tales of the dwarves in the Lost Lands..." Sitting back in his chair, he was suddenly aware of the absence of tea and snacks. He felt a bad host, but there was nothing for it now.

"Not surprising." Thorin's eyes were cast down, but a piercing look from under his brows made Bilbo feel suddenly exposed. Good heavens, he thought, the eyes on this dwarf! "If you had claimed otherwise, I'd have suspected you of being a braggart or a liar. Few of the other races know much of us, and that is as we like it. But..." The brilliant blue eyes were suddenly turned aside. "There are times when our silence is not as helpful. I would count it as a great personal favor if what I am to tell you is not repeated to others. Is this acceptable?" The Baggins in him wanted nothing more than to throw this wretched dwarf out and go to bed, but his Tookish curiosity had him firmly in its grip. Telling an historian that they would have access to rare or hidden information was like telling a bee there were flowers nearby... the perfect bait.

"I suppose I can agree to that. Your secrets will stay with me." Bilbo's expression of deep interest belied the diffident tone of the words, and that didn't go unnoticed by his guest. Thorin nodded and gave a half-smile, then began his tale.

"Are you familiar with the tale of Turin Turambar?" At the hobbit's hesitant nod, he said "Deep knowledge is not needed, but you know of his struggles with the dragon Glaurung, who the elves call Father of Dragons, who the dwarves call... well, be assured it is not so polite as Father of Dragons." A quick smile flashed across the dwarf's face, and Bilbo was struck again with the raw charisma of his visitor. "In the end, as all know, Glaurung died at the sword of Turin. His body was left to rot until the elves finally came and burned it. This much is known." Bilbo nodded; he had heard this story in several variants told among hobbits and men. "What is not known is that dwarves came upon the body, and took from it the two great fangs of the upper jaw, thinking to carve them and see what powers they possessed. My kind is not given to magics such as the elves and the wizards use, nor yet the kind practiced by men. Yet we have our own ways of using the properties of things. Each of the great dwarven cities of the First Age housed a clan; as Moria was the seat of power of the Longbeards, so the cities the elves knew as Nogrod and Belegost in the Blue Mountains were home to the Firebeards and the Broadbeams. They were close allied, and the two cities were said to be both splendid and powerful. The Firebeards, in particular, were exceptionally skilled in making items that men would consider magical, using the arts I spoke of. In Nogrod, the two teeth which were taken were tested and examined by Firebeard masters, and found to have the power of making the mind immune to madness or deception by others. As the dragon's deceptions were so powerful, his own teeth granted immunity to the darkness of his lies, you see? In the end, the two teeth were carved into two crowns, one for Nogrod and one for Belegost, that they might be immune to elvish magics or wiles, that they might not yield to madness or the whispers of false counsel." Bilbo was utterly rapt; he had never heard any of this information before, and it made him realize how little he truly knew about one of the major races of the world.

Thorin spread his hands wide. "At the Time of Wrath, the cities of Nogrod and Belegost were nigh destroyed. Such a great movement of the earth was difficult on the surface, but much worse for those who dwelt within the mountains. An untold number of dwarves perished in the collapse of the deep halls. One of the two crowns was lost, though our own historians are split as to which of them it was. Rargi the king of Belegost and his whole court were lost in the upheaval when the throne room collapsed of a sudden, so I suspect... but no matter. There is no sure answer. What is known is that the remaining crown fled with the survivors of the calamity to Moria. Firebeards and Broadbeams alike were welcomed there by the sons of Durin, and added to the power and renown of the halls. And there the crown stayed, through an Age of the earth." Thorin took a deep breath, and Bilbo was amazed to see the dwarf almost in tears. These events were almost a thousand years ago, but he clearly felt them so personally! "It was then... the Shadow came from the deeps. Durin's Bane. My kin were slain; the hammers stilled, the anvils silent, the forges cold, nothing was left of the splendor within the mountain but memories and the bodies of the fallen. And so ended the great halls of Durin the Firstborn." Thorin hung his head, then suddenly shook himself. "But I forget the tale I tell for another. The crown fled once more with refugees, one of the few great treasures to escape. At first it passed to and fro with the survivors, appearing briefly in Erebor, but then went north with the king and a large party to the Grey Mountains where the goal was to make a new kingdom. For three hundred fifty years, the new city in the north was strong, but in the end a great cold drake came and destroyed those who would not or could not flee. The refugees of this did not bear the crown with them when they fled, and for all our knowledge, there it yet abides in the ruins of... in the Westron it would be called Mountainforge. The survivors went to Erebor, where they... we... yet abide. And here ends the tale." Bilbo barely heard the final sentence. His head was whirling with the thought of an entire civilization that was hidden from others, places never seen, worlds never imagined. This was exactly why he had taken up the study of history in the first place! Soon enough, though, his imagination turned to puzzlement.

"This is all quite fascinating, and I am honored that you share it with me," Bilbo said slowly, "but what exactly is it that I could do about any of this? I have no idea where any of these places are, though I'm quite sure none of them are near the Shire. What...?" Thorin held up a hand and Bilbo stopped, somewhat astonished that he would be so rudely interrupted. The dwarf reached in his pocket and pulled out a small bag, emptying three beads onto his palm. They seemed to be made of similar materials, but the one on the left was sharp in Bilbo's vision, the not-quite-shine he associated with magic. The hobbit sighed deeply. He hated being treated like a party trick.

"It is said that you have a special sensitivity to items of power. That you can identify them, even from a distance, if they are sufficiently powerful. Is this so, Master Hobbit?" Thorin's eyes bored into the hobbit. "Which of these three beads is an item of power?"

Rolling his eyes, Bilbo ignored the beads and muttered "Really, Master Dwarf, I would love to know who has been spreading these tales about me. As I said at the very beginning of all this, I have no interest in helping people find whatever treasure they think is around whatever place they are looking to go. Now, not to seem rude, but time does run on, doesn't it, and I'm sure you have somewhere..." Thorin stood and wordlessly thrust his hand holding the beads in front of Bilbo's chest, glaring into the hobbit's face. The hobbit was uncomfortably aware of how much larger the dwarf was in terms of sheer bulk, despite being only a head or so taller; this was not to mention the large and frankly frightening sword that was propped nearby. What sort of lunatic had he allowed into his house? Swallowing, he pointed wordlessly to the magical one. In response, Thorin gave a great sigh and practically fell backwards into his chair.

"So it's true then. I thought myself the victim of a cruel jest." Despite being furious, Bilbo couldn't help but wonder why Thorin looked so overwhelmingly relieved. Honestly, the hobbit thought, it's like he's had his life saved instead of a demonstration of some sort of minor party trick. It wasn't as though his sensitivity to magic and magical items was particularly useful; quite the opposite. He still remembered the time he had tried to go to Rivendell and the headache that had haunted him for days afterwards, not to mention the embarrassment of collapsing on the trail. Visiting with Gandalf was quite challenge enough. Thoughts of Gandalf suddenly brought the hobbit to a standstill as he looked at the raven embroidered on Thorin's coat. As if he could sense Bilbo's attention, Thorin sat up and gave him another one of those penetrating looks. "Master Baggins... please. I beg you. Help us. Come with us to Sarkhubuland and help me recover the crown. My... the kingdom of Erebor must have it if we are to survive." All Bilbo could do was smile awkwardly and curse to himself.

=  
_Three weeks earlier_

Bilbo brought a pot of tea and set it on a table between himself and the old wizard, along with a plate of blueberry scones. Being near him gave Bilbo a mild headache, the edge-of-vision shimmer of the old man's power a constant reminder that he was far from the simple old wanderer that he appeared to be. Still, Gandalf was one of his oldest friends, and he welcomed the discomfort if it meant a chance to visit and catch up with someone who had been one of his most knowledgeable teachers. He leaned in to pour the tea in one of the china cups.

"Bilbo," Gandalf said suddenly, giving the hobbit a piercing look, "when the raven comes to your door for help, you must go with it. It is the only way to avoid a terrible disaster. And you will be the happier for it, eventually." Bilbo sloshed tea over the rim of the cup in shock, then gave an exclamation of disgust. The wizard sighed and pressed weary fingers against the bridge of his nose. "And now it is gone again. Blast and confound it."

The hobbit felt astonished. What on earth...? "I beg your pardon?" He asked. "Gandalf, what does that mean?"

"It means what it says, no more and no less," the wizard replied, but his normal teasing expression was tainted with bitterness. "All will become clear when it is supposed to." Bilbo was becoming annoyed. He was inordinately fond of the old wizard, but this was the sort of wizardly mumbo-jumbo that Gandalf had never subjected him to before.

"Really, Gandalf!" The flustered hobbit muttered. "You can't simply come out with something obscure like that and then act innocent! What on earth am I supposed to make of all this, ravens coming to the door and leaving? Is it a riddle? What does it mean?" The hobbit put his hands on his hips and glared at the wizard, who sighed and took a scone and began slicing and buttering it.

"Tell me, Bilbo," Gandalf said, "do you remember what you had for breakfast on this same morning thirty years ago?" At the hobbit's spluttered refusal at this seeming non sequitur, the wizard smiled. "You are sure you had breakfast, because eating breakfast is what you do. But what you had, when it was served, who was present, where you sat at table, these things are lost in your memory. But these memories are only misplaced, not gone, for a smell, a taste, a chance meeting of something familiar, and the whole memory unfurls. And suddenly you are transported there and see it for one shining moment as clearly as if you were there, looking at the table again, is this not so?" Gandalf's eyes twinkled merrily as he bit into his scone. Bilbo was so confused by this line of questioning he had forgotten to be cross.

"Well, yes, I suppose, but..." he said, reaching for a scone himself with a furrowed brow.

"It is the same for me, I'm afraid. I am... well, let's just say I am quite old. Like many of the old, my memory is not always what it could be. And sometimes I find that I know things without quite knowing how I know them. In the same way that your memories can be jogged and suddenly you remember the whole thing, I have a similar experience. I remember, and so I say something, and then," with his hands, the wizard made a fluttering motion, like a bird flying away from a disturbance. "Now I would tell you that, based on past experience, what I just said is true. For now, however, my best advice is this: remember it and wait. It will become clear the moment it needs to be." And this gnomic pronouncement, no matter how Bilbo asked or tried, was all Gandalf would say on the matter.

=

_When the raven comes to your door for help, you must go with it. It is the only way to avoid a terrible disaster._

Well, Bilbo thought sourly, here we are. And yes, you wretched wizard, it did become clear, but it's the absolute last thing I want to do. Thorin gazed urgently at Bilbo, still waiting for an answer. The hobbit wanted nothing more than to just throw this pushy, arrogant dwarf out and lock the door, no matter how infuriatingly handso... well. He certainly, positively, completely didn't want to agree to go with him Yavanna knew where to chase some lost item.

"Well," Bilbo began uncomfortably, "I suppose if it's really urgent..." He broke off and looked away, and Thorin leaned forward eagerly.

"It is, Master Baggins. There is more to it which I can tell you, but believe me, this is of the utmost urgency for the kingdom of Erebor, and likely beyond." Brilliant blue eyes flashed, and Bilbo realized for the first time just _how_ handsome Thorin was. He had noticed the eyes, of course, but... a wave of shame filled him. This was certainly no time for that type of foolishness, he thought to himself viciously. Thorin gave a victorious smile, and Bilbo realized that his wavering had been recognized, if (oh hopefully not!) his moment of attraction.

"It's not as though we can go to... wherever this place is, just the two of us. When you gather together a group willing to go, then come and see me." Bilbo knew he was grasping at straws. He very much didn't want to leave his comfortable house and go even to Bree, let alone to some ruined dwarf-hall in the Grey Mountains. Where even were the Grey Mountains?

"Just because I am alone for this visit, do not think I have no companions on this journey. I am not alone in thinking that this is the most important thing to be done; five other dwarves of Erebor are here with me. They are staying in the Green Dragon down the road a bit, but can be here to help in a short period of time if needed." Thorin looked a bit smug at having an answer for this particular objection ready to hand, and Bilbo was suddenly cross again.

"Well why is this crown so important, anyway? If it's been gone for hundreds of years, why is it suddenly so urgent to have a go at finding it?" Thorin's brows drew down and Bilbo thought 'well, scored a hit with that one!' rather triumphantly. Thorin exhaled sharply and looked down.

"I know you promised to keep what I told you secret, so I will tell you the rest. But the need for this to remain unknown is more pressing than ancient history, no matter how close to my kin it may be." Thorin's glare quite took Bilbo's breath away. The dwarf took a deep breath and let it out. "The king of Erebor, King Thrain, is... afflicted in his mind. I... in short, he is mad. There is an illness of the mind, the gold-sickness, that comes upon some in the royal line. He suffers from it, and has not been himself for some time. But he worsens. The crown can cure it, we hope. It must. If the king can be brought back from his current madness, things will be much more... settled." Thorin's face was turned aside, and Bilbo began to wonder just how much was going unsaid.

"A mad king is certainly nobody's idea of pleasant, but once he is known to be mad, surely arrangements can be made? It's not as though such a thing has never happened before. And what do you mean by 'settled'?" The dwarf looked up suddenly and Bilbo almost gasped at Thorin's fierce expression, but the dwarf paused and breathed deeply once, twice, then leaned back, the effort visible in his tense movements.

"You are truly perceptive, Master Baggins; it is no wonder you are accounted an excellent historian. It is as you say. Normally, the Council would quietly step in and run things and the king would be, well, worked around is, I suppose, a polite way of putting it. However, the Council is divided and useless at the moment. Even worse, the leaders of the Firebeards and the Broadbeams have announced that they have no faith in the King's bloodline any more, and there is talk of them leaving Erebor to start their own city somewhere else. This would be disastrous not only for Erebor, but also for the departing clans. They have lived with the Longbeards time out of mind, and the clans are mixed together to a degree that separation would pit brother against brother, father against child. Reclaiming the crown would also prop up support among them for the line of Durin, which has... suffice to say they have not been treated well of late." 

Bilbo hesitated. He knew at some level that he was going to have to take Gandalf's advice and go with this Thorin fellow, but he also had a sinking feeling that he was making a terrible, terrible mistake. Perhaps he was being melodramatic, though. After all, how bad could it be?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the hobbit makes a friend, meets some wildlife, and learns the hard way about differences in cultures.

Over the last week, Bilbo wished on many occasions that he could go back to that first night and answer his own question "Bad. It could be very bad indeed."

"If we go too far to the north, we draw nigh to Gundabad," Balin practically shouted from his pony, long white beard wagging, "and too far to the south, and we run afoul of whatever lives in the approaches to Khazad-Dum, in Hollin-That-Was." Around them, the road led through a woodland kept mute of animal noise and birdsong thanks to the constant sound of dwarven bellowing. Bilbo, riding along at the back of the line, could still hear Balin like he was riding pillion with him. The hobbit shut his eyes and passed a hand over his face; he was beginning to think that either these dwarves were all deaf or that he himself was soon to be. Had he known traveling in this company would be so exhausting, he never would have agreed to this trip, Gandalf's prophecies or no. Balin continued his discourse at top volume, "Now, ideally we should bear north, because the gates of Sarkhubuland are said to lie at the headwaters of the Guhuh-Nala, but the mountains in the north are crawling with goblins and orcs, and less savory things than that I shouldn't wonder. The Burhazanar and Angmar both on this side of the mountain, before we even cross, and too far on the other side and we risk dragons. If we cross at the south high pass over Zirak-zigil, then we risk early snows, but the north pass..." Bilbo sighed and tried to ignore the rambling. He had never heard of these places, and Balin's insistence on referring to everything in the Dwarves' own Khuzdul tongue made what might have otherwise been merely a confusing ramble utterly opaque. Thorin was riding beside the elderly dwarf, stonefaced and nodding occasionally without looking around. Bilbo suspected, perhaps uncharitably, that he was sleeping with his eyes open, though how that was possible with someone bawling nonsense into his ear from five feet away was a mystery for the gods of the dwarves to unravel. He reflected again on how he had ended up in this mess, deciding even self-pity was preferable to Balin's endless pessimistic travelogue of all the ways they could die before even coming close to their goal.

Despite his best efforts to resist the dark haired dwarf's coaxing, Thorin had persuaded Bilbo out of his house the morning after their meeting. The two went to the Green Dragon Inn and met the rest of the expedition party. Bill the Innkeeper looked on in amazement (and not a small amount of amusement, he thought sourly) as Bilbo was presented to five other dwarves in glowing language that made him sound like Turin Turambar himself rather than a rather dowdy hobbit historian who lived just up the Hill. Balin son of Fundin, a surprisingly elderly dwarf, seemed kind enough, but his brother Dwalin was clearly a warrior and barely spoke three words to Bilbo, just looked him up and down with raised eyebrows. Ori son of Bari was a young dwarf, surprisingly slight built for this stocky group, and Bilbo was informed that he had been brought along as a scribe and Dwarven historian. Supposedly he knew a great deal about Mountainforge and the dwarves who founded it, which would come in handy at the site itself. Bilbo very much wanted to chat with him, but he seemed shy and somewhat reclusive, especially since most of the others all shouted at each other at the top of their lungs (when they spoke at all). A short, somewhat slender dwarf with flame red hair was introduced as Vekkad son of Tokkad; he had little to say to Bilbo as well, but his expressions made it clear that it was disdain instead of shyness that kept him quiet. Nar son of Naruk was the final member of the party, and he hardly spoke to anyone. Incredibly stocky and dour of face, his greying beard was long enough to reach his thick waist, and he and Dwalin were the only two that wore heavy chain armor nonstop. Not as tall as Dwalin, Nar's shoulders were as wide as those of a muscular man. Bilbo wondered if he wasn't part troll. Bilbo knew how he must look to them; half a head shorter even than Ori, he felt like a tween again next to them. His elegant clothes looked a bit out of place next to their traveling clothes and stained cloaks, let alone the armor and weapons some were carrying. The short, curly hair of a hobbit was clearly not something found among dwarves either, nor were his pointed ears looked at appreciatively. At least his hazel eyes weren't uncommon, though his lack of beard was apparently a source of amusement judging by the sidelong glances he kept getting.

After several days of travel with these dwarves, Bilbo had determined a number of things he wished he had known before ever agreeing to this harebrained expedition. First, none of them could cook worth a bent copper farthing. Bilbo had taken over food preparation in sheer self-defense, despite having little familiarity with what he insisted on calling "campfire cuisine". He could roast and stew most game, which was more than the rest; he'd also brought along enough corn to make griddle cakes, thanks to a small quern. The dwarves wolfed them down, anyway, though even a passing compliment seemed too much to ask. Secondly, the Dwarven approach to hygiene (and indeed, most of the niceties of life) was appallingly rough and ready. No effort was made to bathe, precious little to clean even the eating utensils, and only Bilbo seemed to think that waking at the first light of dawn and springing into frantic motion to pack up and get on the road without breakfast was the least bit unpleasant. Thirdly, no matter what sort of glowing language Thorin had used in his introduction of Bilbo to the others, he was very clearly an outsider. As a non-dwarf, he barely got a mumbled thanks when he cooked a meal, let alone anything approaching a normal conversation. Sideways glances and occasional stares took the place of casual conversation. Only Balin, and occasionally Thorin, would even say good morning! Bilbo had never felt quite so isolated or disapproved of in his life. Vekkad's open disdain for him was the worst, but none of them seemed particularly comfortable with the hobbit in their midst. Finally, he had noticed that both Vekkad and Nar weren't included in the conversations of the others any more than he himself, and that the two of them seemed disinclined to speak to each other as well. This was truly an odd group, and no mistake.

"Balin, enough!" Thorin's deep bellow cut through Bilbo's train of thought like a war horn, and he watched in shock as Thorin rounded on the elderly dwarf. "I understand your concerns, but by Mahal's red-hot hammer, you've had us slaughtered by wolves, roasted in fires, fallen in pits, killed by orcs, eaten by trolls, burned by dragons... The only danger in the five lands you haven't named specifically in the past hour is Durin's Bane itself, and I swear you were working up to it!" Bilbo grinned in spite of himself, and he caught Ori eyeing him and snickering too, like they were sharing a joke. Looking around surreptitiously, he saw that all the other dwarves were at least smirking, even Nar. The old dwarf puffed up like he would object, white beard bristling, but Thorin shouted over him with ease. "We'll take the low pass north of Barazinbar and keep our heads down. If we see goblins, we'll kill them. If we see trolls, we'll kill them or they'll kill us. We'll bear northeast through the hills to the west bank of the Forest River and head north to the gates of Sarkhubuland and see what we see. But enough of killing us off! Durin's beard, it's hard enough being on the road without listening to you slaughtering the lot of us every two minutes."

Ori sidled his pony back a bit to walk beside Bilbo's and laughed softly. Still grinning, he said in a low voice "I wondered how long that would take. I'm surprised it took as long as it did, honestly. Thorin's patience isn't infinite." Bilbo was stunned.

"You... you're not shouting." He said stupidly, then flushed. Of all the idiotic things to say! But Ori just kept grinning and shook his head.

"Not all dwarves bellow like lost cows, though you couldn't tell it from this group. They're all loud because they're smiths. Used to shouting to be heard over the forges and bellows. I work in a library; shouting isn't welcome, to say the least. Nar over there," the librarian waved at the burly dwarf, "he's a stonemason, but they tend to be loud as well. Carving stone isn't exactly quiet either." Ori's gaze slid across Bilbo, glancing at his face and hands before looking back at his own hands. "Glad to see you in a better mood."

"Better mood?" Bilbo was floored. "I'm sorry, what do you mean?"

"Well..." Ori looked uncomfortable. "Since coming with us, you've either been quiet or grumbly. I thought you didn't like us, since the only time you spoke was to complain about how we do things, but I saw you smiling and well..." He gave a shy smile. "I was pleased to hear another historian was coming along. I don't have anyone to talk to about anything that doesn't involve metal or stone. Or dying horribly," he said, with a covert glance at Balin who was still clearly in a huff. Bilbo's bubbling laugh was louder than he intended, and everyone turned and looked at him, even Thorin. Bilbo flushed and Ori chuckled in turn. Eyes twinkling, the young dwarf said "So tell me... what's your area of focus? I don't know much about the history of your people." Bilbo felt touched as he recognized this as the friendly gesture it was. He supposed in retrospect he had been a bit surly acting. Suddenly he felt slightly embarrassed.

"I apologize if I seemed so. Grumbly, I mean, or upset, I assure you I wasn't. This is all just..." Bilbo waved his hands around, unable to explain how strange he found this whole adventure. "This isn't at all the sort of travel that I am used to, let's say that. But I thought that everyone else was acting very standoffish and odd to me, so I suppose the misunderstanding goes both ways." Ori looked a bit surprised, but Bilbo went on, "Perhaps it's just a cultural difference, I'm sure there are a lot of things that hobbits and dwarves do differently. But I'm so glad you asked, I'm studying the history of not only my own folk in the Shire but the North Kingdom in the Second and Modern Ages. Did you know that..." The rest of the afternoon passed quite easily, as the two historians chatted amiably about interactions between the dwarves of Moria (which seemed to be the same Khazad-Dum Balin had mentioned, blast these differing names for the same places) and the North Kingdom of the Numenorean Dunedain. In the conversation, it came up that Nar was a member of the Broadbeam clan and Vekkad was a Firebeard (explains the red hair, Bilbo thought, if not the surly disposition).

Late in the afternoon, as they were riding along the road Bilbo noticed something odd on the side of the trail. "Hold up a moment," he called to Ori, and the young dwarf signalled a stop while Bilbo dismounted. They were in a particularly thick patch of woods, but growing by the side of the road was a clump of mint. The square stems and jagged leaves were unmistakable. "Odd to see this here," he said to himself, then looked around. This little patch of mint was only one of a number of them, popping up wherever enough light could get through the canopy of the trees overhead to make a sunny spot. Next he found a sage plant, old and woody and spraddled, but clearly sage nonetheless. The smell of the fuzzy oval leaves left no opportunity for confusion. Thorin walked to the back of the line.

"What is amiss?" He said, eyeing Bilbo where he was examining the ground. "Are you hurt? Did you drop something?"

"No, nothing like that," Bilbo replied vaguely. "These plants... mint and sage, very unusual to find in a forest. Both were very popular in North Kingdom foods, though. If we can take a moment, have everyone take a look around for traces of a village or fort. We might be able to get some shelter to camp in, or at the very least some food that isn't bland as old clothes." Thorin raised an eyebrow, but after looking sharply at the hobbit for a moment, nodded and gave instructions to the others. Within fifteen minutes, a shout indicated that the search had located something. Bilbo wandered over and found the roofless shell of an abandoned stone watchtower atop a small rocky rise. Mint grew in profusion around it, giving the air a sweet smell from where it had been trodden down by heavy dwarven boots. Behind it was the remnants of a small garden, thyme and what looked like the sprouts of some sort of gourd or squash fighting for space with weeds and wild spring onions. It was far too early in the year for squash, but Bilbo wanted to look around and see what else had been grown here.

Thorin smiled at the sight, and looked back at Bilbo, clearly impressed. "Well spotted, Master Baggins. This is an excellent resting site." Thorin's rich baritone voice was low and pitched like he was speaking to Bilbo alone, quite distinct from the loud shouting he had been doing with Balin and the others. The hobbit felt himself flushing and didn't even know why. Confound this Baggins complexion! He hated how his embarrassments and shocks were obvious on his face. He ducked his head and mumbled his thanks. Thorin turned away and shouted "Right, we camp here. Vekkad, go hunt while there's still light, some meat would go well. Dwalin, you and Nar scout the area; Balin, Ori, let's set camp." Turning back to the hobbit, he asked in a low voice, "Did you... sense anything here?" Bilbo immediately felt cross again. He knew that's why he had been invited along, but he wished Thorin would just forget about the whole thing. He shook his head brusquely.

"No, of course not, don't be ridiculous. This was just a small guard post, probably built fairly late from the size of it, during one of the times when the road was more dangerous. Hardly a spot to store anything valuable." Sighing, he said "I'm going out to see what else I can find to feed everyone," but Thorin stopped him with an outstretched hand.

"Master Baggins, you shouldn't venture out alone. We aren't in the Trollshaws yet, but we are well outside the civilized lands... there are plenty of unfriendly things out here in the woods this far from a town. Ori! Come escort Master Baggins as he explores the area, if you please." Thorin strode off, presumably to help Balin, and Bilbo was left feeling completely unsettled as Ori wandered over, eyebrows nested near his hairline.

"What are we looking for, then?" Ori asked as he buckled on the sword that he had just removed minutes before. "Something in particular, or...?"

Bilbo sighed. "Food. I want to go see what else is growing around that might be left. Depending on what Vekkad can find in his hunt, I can flavor the meat with sage and thyme, but maybe we could find some mushrooms or... let's just see what's to be found. No need to count our hens from the eggs, as my grandmother used to say." Ori snorted a laugh, and they wandered off, Bilbo carrying one of the metal cooking pots in case they got lucky. Almost immediately, they came across a patch of strawberries that were just ripe enough to eat at the base of the hill. Bilbo made a sound of happiness, and quickly began picking them into the pot. By the time the patch was down to green unripe berries, the pot was more than half full and Bilbo was delighted. "See? We found this treasure without even going more than fifty steps from the camp! Who knows what else might be out here!" He grinned at Ori, who was openly laughing.

"Treasure? So berries are treasure to a hobbit, then? Good to know," he said in a teasing voice. "Who needs gold and jewels when there are berries in season! No wonder the Shire is so peaceful."

"We take great pride in our peacefulness, thank you very much!" Bilbo said in a cross voice, though he wasn't really and he hoped Ori knew it. "And I'll take food over gold and jewels any day, since I imagine they make for a poor reward to a hungry dwarf no matter how pretty they look. Better to eat well without than to starve amid riches." He cut his eyes over at the young historian, who suddenly looked thoughtful.

"You make a fair argument, I'll give you that," Ori answered mildly. Looking around, he pointed at a tree some distance away. "Look! Bees!" They looked over, and sure enough, winged forms flew in and out of a hole in a tree trunk at head height to Bilbo. Something had happened to the hive recently, as honey was spilled down the side of the tree and fragments of comb were everywhere. Bilbo grimaced.

"I'd kill for some smoke pots and a veil right now. Honey would be wonderful, but I have no way to get it. Even if I came back at night, the bees would swarm me, especially since it looks like something has already attacked the hive. I wonder what..." He set his berries down and tried to get a better view of the tree, hoping against hope that maybe there would be some way to get access to the sweet golden riches inside. As he wandered closer, trying to see it more clearly, he spotted a cluster of oyster mushrooms clinging to the base of an oak. He was so distracted by the mushrooms that Bilbo completely missed the hill of brown fur behind the tree that held the nest. The first indication that something was amiss was a loud rumble, and then a bear appeared, growling and standing up. Ori jumped back and shouted, but without thinking Bilbo yelled "Thorin! Help!" He was vaguely aware of Ori drawing his sword, but the bear lumbering closer was all he could focus on. He turned to run and promptly fell down. At that point, he realized he was going to die.

Suddenly, someone ran past him screaming "_Baruk Khazad!_" He realized with a shock it was Thorin. The dwarf ran right up to the bear, swinging his enormous sword and stabbing the huge beast in the throat. With a roar, the bear reared back and knocked him sprawling with one of its paws. Blood was spurting everywhere from the gaping slash in the bear's neck, and Bilbo awkwardly scuttled backwards to get out of the range of the fight. He was terrified for his own safety but he also realized that he had most likely just gotten Thorin killed. Shame boiled in him. You're completely useless, he told himself. Why are you out here with these dwarves, acting like you know what you're doing? Now someone is dead because you're too stupid to pay attention to where you were! He watched as the bear pawed at the wound in its throat with a look of confusion, then slumped down slowly. Blood continued to gush out of the wound, but with a wheezing sound the bear fell over. Ignoring the huge animal's death throes, Bilbo leapt up and ran over to where Thorin lay. He was shocked to see the dwarf fighting to sit up, still clutching his sword and cursing in Khuzdul. Thorin's tunic was hanging in shreds where the huge paw had slashed him, and the muscular, hairy chest beneath showed a striped claw mark across it. Blood seeped from the wound.

"You're... how are you not dead?" Bilbo asked in confusion. "That bear was enormous!" Nar and Dwalin ran up, having heard the shouting and commotion, and stopped dead in their tracks at the sight of the dead bear and Thorin lying on the ground. To Bilbo's astonishment, rather than rushing to help they both started laughing. He was so irate he didn't know what to do with himself. "Why are you laughing? This isn't funny! Thorin almost died, you ridiculous...!" He stomped over to them and drew himself up, putting his fists on his hips and glaring at them. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so angry. By this point Dwalin was holding his sides and guffawing, and Nar was laughing so hard he was leaning on the handle of his axe, practically in tears. The sight of the furious hobbit seemed to amuse them even more. Even Ori was giggling! Bilbo would have attacked them both if he just had a weapon. The sheer nerve of these dwarves!

"I assure you, Master Hobbit," came a strong voice from behind him, "nobody was near death. We dwarves are much tougher than you give us credit for." He whirled around in shock, and saw Thorin standing up, holding his side and wincing a bit but otherwise seeming unaffected by his recent encounter. "Mahal made us of stone, remember? It takes more than an angry animal to take down a dwarf." Bilbo shook his head in amazement. Anyone from the Shire would have been dead from that blow, and Thorin just shrugged it off! Bilbo had never seen the like. Thorin finally cast a dark look at Nar and Dwalin and said "If you two idiots are quite finished with your little party, why don't you see to butchering this bear? The meat won't be very good this time of year, but surely there's something on it we can eat if Vekkad doesn't find anything." Nodding, they went over to start field dressing the bear as Thorin started to gingerly pick his way back up the hill. Ori had picked up the pot full of berries like nothing unusual had happened, and Bilbo glared at him and snatched it back.

"What is wrong with you people?" he practically shouted. "Is this normal for dwarves? Just another afternoon of almost dying? Ha ha ha, let's all watch someone get hurt?" Ori looked shocked by the question.

"Bilbo, why are you so upset? Thorin wasn't hurt," the young dwarf said in a reasonable tone of voice, "There's no need to make such a scene, it was just a bear. What we all found so funny was that Thorin went racing into combat like it was a troll or orc chieftain or something. The others were laughing because it was so ridiculous. Thorin is a trained warrior in his prime, the bear should never have touched him, let alone knocked him down like that." Ori's eyes cut over towards Bilbo with a sly expression. "He must have been distracted by something." Bilbo drew himself up to make a truly cutting remark, but decided against it. He had learned long ago that if people teased you, the worst thing you could do was let them get you to react. Better to just ignore such a ridiculous remark. Sighing, he went over and started picking the oyster mushrooms he had seen earlier. From that vantage point, he could see that the bear had been eating the honeycomb it had pulled from the tree before it attacked, and even more interesting there was more than half of it left. He handed the pot to Ori, who looked at him quizzically.

"The bear had the honeycomb out after all. I'm going to wrap my cloak around my head and try for it. If I get stung, so be it. When I come back, be ready to run." Ori grinned and nodded. Bilbo felt the first stirrings of exhaustion from the afternoon's adventures, but he wanted that honey. He had plans for it now. Racing over to the tree, he snatched up the dripping comb and ran, bees trailing him and stinging his cloak. Ori ran along with him, clutching the pot and snickering as they dodged the angry bees. Despite a few stings on his arms and hands, they made it back up to the campsite with the honeycomb and the other foraged items. Setting his found treasures down, Bilbo went off and picked the stingers out of himself, then came back and pulled out his quern. What he wouldn't give for some clotted cream right now! Or just some sugar, for that matter. Picking up a bucket, he wandered down the hill and across the road to the tiny brook that ran alongside the track here. When he got back, he saw a disgruntled Vekkad wandering back to camp empty handed. Bear it was, then.

Sitting next to the fire, he looked at what he had. Stew, he thought. Thorin is quite right, that bear won't be fit to eat in the late spring; there hasn't been enough time since winter to take the gaminess out of the meat. Any sort of cuts of meat were right out, but stew with some fresh herbs would cut that spring taste. Fetching some spring onions from the overgrown garden, he chopped them and added them to a pot of water. Once they were simmering, he chopped some of the bear meat into chunks and threw them in the pot. He took a bit of the fat and tasted it, and it wasn't nearly as rank as he had feared, so he threw some of it in the water as well to put some body in the stew. Thyme for flavor, chopped mushrooms for texture... what he wouldn't give for some potatoes and carrots! Bilbo lost track of time as he simmered the stew, adding a pinch of salt and pepper from the stores in his pack, tasting, tinkering with it, and thoroughly enjoying working to make the food the best it could be. At one point, he looked up and caught Thorin watching him from across the campsite. The bright blue eyes were hooded, but he was focused on Bilbo very intently. How odd, he thought. It's like he's never seen someone cook before! Still, he felt he owed Thorin something in appreciation for saving him from the bear. Dwarves might laugh that sort of thing off, but Bilbo was all too aware of how close he had come to an early grave. His supplies were limited, but the berries had given him an idea.

As the twilight came on, the food was ready. He served out the stew, and for the first time there were actual compliments offered. Even Vekkad grudgingly said he was amazed spring game could taste so good... though Bilbo noticed there was still a sarcastic tone to the dwarf's voice when he offered his praise. Once everyone was eating, though, Bilbo went back to the kitchen and kept working. As the dwarves were finishing their meal, he arranged some thin corn cakes sweetened with honey on a plate, and covered them with a puree of the strawberries and more honey. The rest of the honey he had mixed with the berries and put in a pot for the dwarves to serve themselves, but he walked the plate over to Thorin and presented it to him directly. "This is to thank you for saving my life," he said quietly. Immediately, Bilbo suspected that he had made a massive faux pas somehow. Not a single dwarf moved or spoke. Every eye was on him, most with incredulous expressions. As he glanced around, even Ori was looking at him in shock. Vekkad was openly glaring at him. What on earth...? Thorin's eyes could have burned holes in him, but he was keeping his face expressionless and made no move to take the offered plate, hardly the reception Bilbo had expected. "If... you don't like it... I can... um..." Bilbo felt utterly humiliated. He was trying to do something nice, so why was everyone acting like he'd offered a mortal insult? Thorin cleared his throat and finally spoke.

"That was... very kind of you, Master Baggins." Thorin looked deeply uncomfortable. Bilbo couldn't take any more; he set the plate down and simply turned and fled back to the cooking area. He heard Thorin call something after him, but he was deeply hurt by how his attempt to show gratitude was thrown back in his face. He had thought he would eat, but his stomach was roiling with acid and there was no way he could have choked down a morsel of anything at the moment without vomiting it back up again. Over and over in his mind, he relived the sight of everyone staring at him like he had offered something disgusting, or walked up naked, or... He would never understand dwarves, not in a million years. They laugh at people being hurt, they scorn people being nice. Nothing they did made sense, and Bilbo sat and fought back tears at the injustice of it all and his own bad judgement in coming along on this wretched errand. Damn those dwarves and damn the crown and damn Gandalf for sending him on this horrible, pointless, utterly miserable adventure!

"Bilbo?" Ori's voice came out of the darkness, and Bilbo wanted to jump up and run away again. He knew that he shouldn't run out into the darkness, but it sounded pretty appealing at the moment.

"What?" He cursed at how choked his voice sounded. Ori crept around him, seeming to almost cringe as he sat down and peered at him in the light of the cooking fire.

"I... I just wanted to..." Ori looked profoundly uncomfortable, but he semed to rally himself and started over. "What were you thinking when you made that for Thorin?"

"What do you mean?" Bilbo said, sniffling. "He saved my life! I wanted... I wanted to do something nice for him, make him something good to eat to say thank you, and you all..." Yavanna curse it, he was starting to cry now, and there was nothing to be done for it. "You all acted like I had done something awful, and I don't even know what I did." He wiped his face furiously, smearing tears across his cheeks. "If he doesn't like berries, or they mean something bad, I didn't mean to upset him, I just made what I could, I didn't... ugh!" He gave up trying to explain and just focused on not sobbing. Ori was sitting across from him looking utterly poleaxed.

"So... it doesn't mean anything, uh, special, in the Shire, to take gifts to someone in public?" Ori's face had lost its shock and was beginning to show strong signs of amusement, which was irritating Bilbo more and more. If this turned into another episode of 'laugh at the silly hobbit', he might very well poison them all at breakfast.

"What?" Bilbo was trying to restrain his aggravation, but seriously! "It means you consider them a friend, I suppose. I mean, I wouldn't cook for someone I didn't like, certainly not cook them something special, but... Ori, just get to the point. What are you really asking me? Because from where I sit, I worked very hard to do something nice for someone and they threw it back in my face, and I'm really not in the mood for dwarven riddles and talking in circles right now!" Bilbo realized that he was unreasonably angry with Ori, but given what he had just been through, he couldn't feel too bad about it. He felt even less remorse when Ori started giggling helplessly. Right, he thought. Poison in the porridge it is.

"Bilbo... oh Mahal's hammer, Bilbo." Ori was shaking now, whooping laughs just pouring out of him. "You just proposed to Thorin, and didn't even know it!" All Bilbo's building fury and desire to stab the young historian was immediately erased by shock.

"What?!" He choked out. "Dwarves propose to each other with FOOD?!" Bilbo was so shocked he didn't know what to think. How would that even work?

"No, not with food, just with... Look. Dwarves value crafting skill above all else. When a dwarf wants to offer marriage, they make something special with their own hands, and they offer it in a public setting. Dwarves always propose to each other in public, so that everyone knows; we don't do secret courtships, because it leads to conflict and hurt feelings. For you, whose skill is cooking, to go to all the effort out here with no ingredients to make something elaborate and present it in person to someone in front of the whole group... well..." Ori spread his hands as though the conclusion was self-evident. In horror, Bilbo realized that perhaps it was. Ori was grinning so broadly his face was about to split in half.

"But... but..." Bilbo spluttered. "Thorin's a man! And so am I! It can't... I mean, we couldn't... how is that even..." Visceral terror gripped him. Bilbo had spent years trying to avoid doing anything that would cause his gossipy neighbors in the Shire to ask certain questions. He was always careful where he looked. He took care never to let his gaze linger on young men, or any men, really. Such things were never tolerated in the Shire, even thinking of two men doing anything together was considered extreme perversion comparable to sleeping with animals or worse. Now he was trapped with a group of strangers who thought... Yavanna help him.

"So?" Ori looked at him with a puzzled expression.

"What do you mean 'so'? Two men or two women can't get married! It's... it's just not possible!" Bilbo wondered if there was a translation issue. He and Ori had always been able to communicate well before, but surely something about this conversation was causing some confusion. Ori's puzzled expression deepened and he shook his head in apparent wonderment.

"Why not? Is this a Shire thing? You certainly have some strange ideas, Bilbo Baggins." Bilbo felt a bolt of fury go through him like a lightning bolt. How dare this... this... dwarf imply that he was being small minded by insisting on something that everyone knew?

"It's not strange! Everyone knows this! It's immoral and indecent!" He found himself breathing hard like he had been running, and wasn't sure why. The urge to get away, to just run, was almost stronger now than it had been when he felt humiliated. Bilbo couldn't believe that someone could just sit and act like something so shameless could be acceptable?

"Immoral and indecent?" Ori was beginning to get angry, and it showed in his voice. "I don't know what hobbits consider moral or decent, but to dwarves, love is love. For your information, Master High-and-Mighty Baggins, dwarves love once and once only. The lucky among us find our true mate; not everyone does. And if you do find your One, you damn well marry them! If you don't... well, it's your only shot at happiness, isn't it? It's hard enough to find your One at all, so to say that you can only marry your One if they happen to be the right sex is a load of orc filth. I haven't met my One, and I may never be so lucky, but if I do, I plan to settle down with them and be as happy as I can, whether they're male, female or both at once for that matter! So mind your mouth while you're traveling with dwarves, whatever weird ideas you may hold." Ori was glaring at Bilbo like he'd said something wrong. At his final words, the dwarf got up and stomped off, leaving Bilbo sitting by the embers of the cookfire with his head spinning.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the hobbit discovers the dangers of surprising dwarves, and dwarves in turn discover the dangers of irritating a Baggins.

As the night wore on, Bilbo didn't sleep much. At all, really. He lay on his bedroll and tried to ignore the confusing whirl of emotions that his conversation with Ori had released, but his mind had decided that ignoring his reaction simply wasn't an option. He didn't even know how he really felt about the idea of two men being together in that way, once he got past the programmed knee-jerk response; shame, titillation, disgust, fascination, and horror all tugged at him like he was the in the middle of a ring of chains pulling him in all directions at once. Most shameful of all, desire was present as well, and admitting that was a bitter draught indeed. He would be in the middle of being horrified at the social reaction of what people in the Shire would think, even the most broad-minded Tooks would shun him... and then an image would rise in his mind of Thorin's face in his living room, his blue eyes watching from across the campsite, and his mouth would go dry. Then, like clockwork, the image of Thorin's expressionless face and all the dwarves watching in silent disapproval as he stood there, ashamed, with a plate of food, and the cycle would begin again. Not, of course, that he was interested in, well, that with Thorin. It was all a misunderstanding, he thought for the thousandth time. Just a funny (or not so funny) moment of cultures clashing. Wasn't it?

Several times, he tried to calm himself by retreating into abstractions. He knew of course, had always known, that not all cultures were the same. As an historian, he knew there were differences in attitudes even within the same culture over the long sweep of time. Clothing styles, foods and social customs came into fashion, thrived, then became old fashioned or outmoded and faded away through the centuries. The things he had learned to be "proper" and "respectable" growing up in the Shire were never considered in the same way, somehow, as the changes in opinions about the other races, or the appropriateness of magical study among the northern kingdoms of Numenor. Intellectually, he could see that it would be much the same; he had seen ample evidence that study of magic was considered at least as deeply shameful in the kingdom of Fornost as two men... canoodling (his mind refused any other word) would be in the Shire. Rather more so, since several people were killed for magical practices under the reign of Arvedui Last-King, and nobody had ever (to Bilbo's knowledge) been put to death for such a thing in the Shire, or even formally exiled. Yet and still, he thought. The shame, the social stigma, the shunning... perhaps death would be better than having every day be lonely, not a kind face nor kind word to be had, to be scorned by everyone and live only in the gossip of others. And so he passed the night, tossing and turning, sighing and cursing, trying to find sleep which his mind refused him. And with that, back he would go to imagining what his family and neighbors would say.

In the middle of the night, he noticed as he was tossing and turning that the wind changed, and the new wind blew cold and wet, eerily appropriate to his mood. Clouds rolled in, obscuring the stars that had been shining on the campsite. The following day dawned frigid and overcast, those same clouds hanging low over the trees. Hardly late spring weather, Bilbo thought grumpily, as he shivered in a sudden icy gust which whipped ash into his eyes from the depleted campfire. As he got out of his bedroll and began packing his things to the accompanying sounds of dwarven voices arguing, he realized someone was approaching. Hoping it to be Ori so that he could apologize, he was shocked to see the red beard and slight frame of Vekkad. Before he could even say good morning, the other dwarf spoke in a firm voice.

"He's not for you." Bilbo was shocked, and attempted to splutter a reply, but Vekkad spoke over him. "Thorin will be king, and no king of Durin's line will be tied to a... whatever you are." The sneer was impressive, Bilbo had to admit dazedly. Even Lobelia would have been proud of it. "I've seen you watching him, and you can stop. Go back home and find a wife or husband with your own kind."

"Now see here!" Bilbo's fury finally caught up with him, pushing past the shock and embarrassment. "I'm not watching anyone! Last night was a... it didn't mean what you thought it meant, you filthy-minded little... ugh!" He threw his hands up, but Vekkad was clearly unimpressed.

"I know what it meant," the red-haired dwarf said in a lower tone. "I might know better than you do. But listen to me, Baggins or whatever your name is. Thorin thinks you have the Deep Sight; maybe you do, maybe you don't. But even if you do, there's a lot of things that could happen out here to a soft little creature like you." The look on his face was a bit stern and sad, like someone doing an unpleasant duty. Bilbo realized the dwarf wasn't even being malicious; he had seen farmers put down poison for rats with just the same face. Suddenly he felt cold. "Find the crown for us if you can, and go home. Live a long, healthy life, just live it far away from Erebor and its prince. If you're wise, you'll mind my words." And with that, Vekkad turned and walked off, ignoring Bilbo's shocked noises. The hobbit stood for a moment staring down at his half-rolled up bedding. It had never occurred to him before that he might be in danger from those he traveled with, but after that... what on earth should he do? Suddenly, his mind processed what it had just heard and he almost fell over. Prince? What on earth did he mean, Thorin would be King? He desperately needed to speak with Ori. Unseen by everyone, blue eyes watched from across the campsite.

Bilbo might desire to speak with Ori, but the feeling was decidedly not mutual. Despite his best attempts to get a chance to speak, Ori avoided him as easily and adroitly as a fish avoids a child in the water. Each time Bilbo thought he was sure to catch the dwarf, he would arrive to the sight of the young scribe moving away, just far enough away that to call out would be awkward. As if that weren't bad enough, all the other dwarves (except Vekkad, who had already made his feelings quite clear) eyed Bilbo like he was some sort of strange animal they weren't quite sure what to think of. Worst of all, he attempted to quietly apologize to Thorin, who just looked at him with the same expressionless face he had used to such devastating effect the night before and walked away without speaking. This marked the beginning of a day that was possibly the longest, most miserable, emptiest day in Bilbo's life. He felt like a ghost riding at the back of the line. Nobody would look at him, nobody would speak to him, and the closest thing to a friend he had in the whole group was avoiding him. As if his misery weren't complete, by mid-morning a drizzling rain began to fall. Drips of cold water fell on him as he walked along the forest trail at the back of the line. All he had to think about for the entire day was how miserable he was, how much of an ass he felt because of the previous night's misunderstanding, and how alone he was. He hadn't felt so much like crying since he was a fauntling.

As the company stopped to set up camp for the night, Bilbo looked around in disgust. The rain had finally stopped an hour or so ago, but the ground was still wet and everything was damp to the touch. The hobbit had unthinkingly headed for the campfire to cook dinner but stopped quite abruptly. He had been running on his inner Tookishness, he realized. Following the prognostications of intentionally obscure wizards, running off with dwarves, chasing stories of strange magical artifacts in foreign parts of the world... basically living as though he were the hero of some children's story. His mother's blood had been in full control lately. Perhaps, just perhaps, a dose of Baggins was required here. Not a bad thought at all. Now, what the dwarves were unaware of for a few more blissful moments, but which would become painfully apparent in short order, was that a Baggins wasn't just proper and staid, polite and no-nonsense. A Baggins wasn't just a proud and capable cook, oh no. Essential to remember was that in addition to these fine traits a Baggins was also capable, pound for pound, of being as petty as it was possible for a living creature to be. Bilbo looked at the fire, looked at the pots, smiled to himself, and made himself a lovely dinner. When the dwarves wandered over to see what was cooking, they were met with messy pots, a hobbit with a plateful of tasty food, a muddy campfire area and nothing for them to eat. When they looked at Bilbo pleadingly, he stared off into the distance; if anyone spoke, he ignored them. Well, he thought with a mental grin (though outwardly his face was as stonefaced as Thorin himself) see how you lot like being ignored! What's good for the goose is good for the dwarf, or something like that. 

The best part of the evening arrived when Nar finally gave up and tried to cook something... if, Bilbo thought laughingly, you can call that 'cooking'. The smell and smoke of scorched meat soon filled the campsite, along with the sound of deep-voiced cursing. The half-blackened, half raw chunk of bear meat was then served out to distinctly glum faces, without even a touch of the salt and pepper still securely bundled away in Bilbo's bag. Dwalin's voice could easily be heard saying "This is bollocks!" before someone else shushed him, which was music to Bilbo's ears. Balin had unobtrusively wandered over near the dirty cooking pots Bilbo had left. Just as his finger started to ease towards the remaining sauce in the bottom of the pan, Bilbo turned and said 'ah!' in the voice one would use to remember something one was doing, and snatched it up to wash, along with the good frying pan (as opposed to the bad one which had wreaked utter havoc on an unsuspecting slab of dead ursine) and the mixing bowl. Balin was left with a very forlorn look indeed as Bilbo brought back clean pots and pans from the wash bucket without even looking at the white-haired dwarf, stacked them up pretty as you please without a word or a look, and sat down very solidly indeed on a log with his pipe, still refusing to meet the elderly dwarf's eyes while wearing an expression of absolute peace and contentment (and if that should be a total lie, it was nobody else's business, thank you very much, if you don't mind!) Damp began to seep through the seat of his trousers, but he chose to ignore it.

Balin looked over and gave the hobbit a grandfatherly smile, slightly ruined by his stomach growling. "Good evening, Master Baggins!" It was obvious, based on Bilbo's observations since joining the group a week ago, that Balin was accounted a diplomat by dwarven standards. He was clearly a canny negotiator, and was by far the most socially able of the dwarves in the group. With Bilbo's new knowledge that Thorin was a prince, it was even more obvious that Balin was doubtless some sort of royal advisor. Unfortunately for Balin, navigating (and in cases like this one, creating) this sort of difficult social environment was something that hobbits in the Shire trained for from birth.

"Oh, hello," Bilbo responded, acting exactly as though he hadn't even seen the dwarf standing there a moment ago. "Good evening, Balin." He turned away and took a puff from his pipe while staring off into the distance, and the old dwarf sighed before he could stop himself.

"So, uh..." the old dwarf said with a sheepish expression, clearly trying to make the best of the hand he had been dealt (though his expression related more to terms like _inflicted_ and _suffered_ than _dealt_) Bilbo, of course, didn't acknowledge his voice at all. "Master Baggins, we were sorry not to have you present at dinner." Meaning, Bilbo snickered sourly, sorry not to have you cooking our dinner. He was a bit surprised that the ghost of the bear hadn't appeared and mauled Nar on the spot for the abuse of its poor flesh. Treating even substandard meat like that was a disrespect to the animal that died, or so Bungo Baggins had maintained loudly to his son Bilbo (usually after some kitchen disaster).

Glancing around with evident surprise to see Balin still standing there, Bilbo said vaguely "Indeed, you're too kind," then turned back to his pipe. Balin stood for a moment, clearly at a loss for what to say to such a non-answer. Mustering up his courage, (and Bilbo had to admit, for Balin to still be standing here assaulting this practically unscalable social wall was evidence that he was quite brave, if not suicidally foolish) Balin ventured onto a patch of conversational ice that was so thin even the fish underneath it thought it was the sky.

"Thorin very much missed your..." The look, or rather Look, that he received paralyzed his tongue quite effectively.

"Is that so?" Bilbo hissed bitterly, whipping around and glaring like an angry cat. "I can't imagine why anything of mine would be missed, or even noticed." Balin drew back hastily like a man who, upon reaching for a piece of convenient rope, realized he was about to grab a viper. "Certainly not by him. Nor why you yourself should feel the need, after avoiding even looking at me all day, to come and remark on it on his behalf. Good evening." And with that final 'well wishing' like a thrown gauntlet, he turned away and tried with shaking fingers to relight his pipe, which had unaccountably gone out. Balin stood for a moment, appearing shocked and a bit flummoxed (not that Bilbo was looking at all, of course), and finally made a soft _hum_ sound and stepped up and sat down on the dirt (well, in the mud, really) next to the hobbit.

"Master Baggins," the old dwarf said, and Bilbo couldn't remember hearing him ever speak in such a quiet and conversational tone of voice, "dwarven culture can seem a bit odd and confusing to outsiders, I've been told." Bilbo snorted loudly but didn't react any further. After a moment to see if words would be forthcoming, Balin continued. "I've heard that people may have been confused in the past about what constitutes courting behavior, for example." A sideways look from the old counselor, resolutely ignored by the hobbit who was now glaring into the woods and puffing away on his newly relit pipe. "Another aspect of dwarven culture that might not be familiar to everyone is that after something unexpected happens, especially something that might be embarrassing or awkward for someone, most dwarves will wait until the one who did the unusual thing speaks to them, or interacts somehow. Gives them an idea how to react, you see? That way if something got confused, well, no harm done, right?" Bilbo glanced to the side in surprise, but was unnerved to see Balin's bright eyes peering at him. He quickly whipped around to face front again, but had the uncomfortable sense that Balin was smiling at him. "Disagreements and arguments are one thing, but... well. Dwarves are very keen to avoid public embarrassment, you see. Terribly awkward to acknowledge it. Better all the way round if everyone just pretends it never happened, don't you think?"

Bilbo cleared his throat. "So... hypothetically speaking," he said, and glanced over in time to catch Balin's approving nod, "in a situation like that..." Bilbo suddenly felt awkward, embarrassed and more than a little needlessly dramatic. "... if a person didn't know that, wouldn't they think that everyone was shunning them out of dislike or embarrassment?" Balin's sudden intake of breath said volumes.

"Ah." The old dwarf looked down, twiddling a twig in his fingers. "That would be an unfortunate situation. Always a danger of misinterpretation, though, when cultures are unfamiliar." He shook his head and glanced at Bilbo with apparent sympathy. "It's always sad when someone feels hurt, especially when it's all because of a misunderstanding." Bilbo felt like he was gaining a new appreciation for the dwarves after this conversation. Who knew that they had a positively hobbit-like ability to talk around corners like this?

"So, if someone were in that situation you described," the hobbit said, finally giving up the pretense and looking frankly into Balin's face, "And a dwarf came up and not only commented on the embarrassing situation negatively, but went on to make threats... that would constitute disrespect?" The old dwarf's brows drew down in worry and he peered closely at Bilbo, clearly gauging his reactions.

"That's... well. That would be a bit more harsh than disrespect, lad. That's practically a declaration of war. I'd like to think that wouldn't happen in a polite group. I can't imagine someone would be so tactless." Bilbo simply grunted, but glanced away at Balin's raised eyebrows. Worry replaced surprise on the old dwarf's face. He was clearly about to ask something, but Bilbo pressed on and changed the subject. Vekkad's worries were pointless and Bilbo had no intention of doing whatever it was that so concerned the bitter little Firebeard.

"So I'm told Thorin is a prince." Bilbo said bluntly, remembering that he was supposed to be angry (though understanding the confusion made him feel quite a bit better, honestly). Balin made another little surprised noise, then sighed again gustily.

"I see from your surprise that he never got around to mentioning that when he recruited you, eh? Yes, Master Baggins, he is. Not in very good standing with his father at the moment, though. Not exactly welcome to come home, if you get my meaning. But he told you the reason we are looking for this particular crown, did he not?" At Bilbo's nod, Balin nodded as well, face showing clear relief. "Good, that's good. I'd hate to think... but yes, that's good." The bright eyes glanced at Bilbo, then looked away. "Tell me, Master Baggins, if it isn't too impertinent of me to ask, and perhaps it is, and if so, please let me know, because I'd hate..."

Bilbo sighed. This much talking in circles was familiar, but that didn't make it enjoyable. "What is it, Balin?"

"Ah, of course. Well..." the old dwarf gave a curious look up at Bilbo. "Thorin tells us that you have the Deep Sight. Is that true?" Bilbo's irritation came back all at once, but he sighed and tried to put it aside. It was so nice to be talking to someone who wasn't threatening to kill him it was almost worth answering questions about his useless gift. He briefly considered pretending not to know what was under discussion, but realized quickly there was no point. Only more awkwardness lay down that path, and he for one had had quite enough awkwardness for this entire trip in the past twenty four hours.

"Not knowing the term, I'm not sure how to answer, but if you mean can I tell when an item is enchanted or has magical properties, yes, it's true. Not that it's ever been of any use at all. Really it's just a tremendous inconvenience." Bilbo puffed at his pipe irritably, ignoring Balin's look of shock. He realized with disgust that his pipeweed was smoked down to grit and ash.

"Master Baggins! You can't mean that!" At Bilbo's sidelong look, the old dwarf shook his head severely. "The Deep Sight is a rare and amazing gift of Mahal! Someone should have trained you. Is it common among hobbits?"

Bilbo laughed bitterly. "No, absolutely not. Nobody had ever heard of such a thing before me, not even in our records of the old-old days, and I have done my level best to avoid having them hear of it from me. Hobbits don't handle different things well, you see. And that includes different people." He knocked out the dottle from his pipe with a bit more force than strictly necessary and began repacking it. This conversation was at least a two-pipe discussion, especially considering that there was no beer or ale to be had out here in the woods.

"Well, that is unfortunate. I've never heard of a non-dwarf having it, honestly; even among us it's rare as diamonds. But I also know next to nothing of your people. What we saw during our brief stay showed us a people much given to food, drink and celebrations, and a tremendous number of children. We don't... dwarves don't have a lot of children." An expression of ineffable sadness crossed the old dwarf's face, and even in the embers of his own irritation Bilbo felt a surge of sympathy. There was clearly a tragedy there somewhere, though it was certainly none of his business. "What is life like with so many? And how has the Shire not been overrun with people with families so large?"

"That's a question that I never thought about before now, actually." Bilbo said in puzzlement. "Most families have four or five children; some have less, some a lot more, but, well... some children don't survive childhood. We just like big families, I suppose. And honestly, Balin, there's a lot more of the Shire you didn't see. A lot more. It's a large place. When families get too big, there's always space for them to spread out, though it gets hard because a lot of them don't like to move very far away. I suppose it's a bit different when you're under a mountain and new space has to be dug out when you run out."

"Dug out is the least of it," Balin said with a conspiratorial smile, "Even the smallest new digging starts with two things, a pick and an argument. And that's assuming that the Stonekeepers have approved the construction." Seeing Bilbo's confusion, he explained. "Stonekeepers are dwarves with the best stone sense, they can tell when rock is safe to dig or not, whether it will withstand loads, where passages go, all sorts of things. We all have some of it by virtue of being dwarves, but the very best become Stonekeepers. It's a great honor for the family, to have a child become a 'keeper."

Bilbo's curiosity was now well and truly piqued. His bad mood was now gone, replaced by an historian's lust for knowledge. "That's fascinating. Stone sense like that sounds a lot more useful than this thing I have, at least." He glanced away, but in for a penny, in for a pound. "Is it true that dwarves have a destined mate, and that they only have one chance to marry?" Balin gave the hobbit a very piercing look, and his lips pursed.

"Hobbits don't?" Bilbo shook his head, and Balin gave him another probing glance. "Well, yes, it is true, though I'm curious as to why that was under discussion. We are taught that when we are made by Mahal, a dwarf's entire soul is too strong to be contained in one body, so it must be split in two. Some have questioned this explanation, but it is certainly true that for each of us, there's no questioning when... if... we finally meet our One. We look at them and just know." Balin's gaze wandered off and his face took on that tragic cast again. "That doesn't mean they reciprocate affection, of course. Some dwarves have no interest in anything other than their craft, some just have no interest in marriage. And some lose their One before they ever meet, or never meet them at all." Balin cast his gaze back to the hobbit sitting on his log. "But your kind have nothing like this?"

"No," Bilbo said. Frankly, he thought, the whole business sounded dreadful. "Hobbits tend to marry someone they know, but there's no instant knowing when you meet them and certainly no sense that they are destined to be with you or part of your soul or any such thing. We do tend to stay married, though, like your folk; once a hobbit takes a partner, it's for life. We just sort of... grow together, I suppose. Not to mention the scandal would be so tremendous, anyone trying to separate would have to move practically out of the Shire to escape the wagging tongues!" The hobbit laughed, but even to his own ears it was a brittle, scrapey sort of laugh, and Balin cocked an eyebrow to hear it.

"It would never occur to a dwarven couple to separate, Master Baggins." Balin's smile was a bit strained but also somewhat wistful. "We think of marriage like a mountain. When we first see our Ones, we recognize each other, but that is only the surface. But the longer a couple is together, the deeper they dig, the greater the treasures they find. The richest, brightest jewels are deepest in." He picked up another twig and spun it around and around in his broad hands, staring off into space. "Long-married couples... you can see just from their faces they have found the riches together."

"For us," Bilbo felt a surge of sympathy for the dwarf, who had clearly been through something tragic even though he had no idea of the specifics, "For us, marriage is like a garden. At first, anyway. You get out of it what you put into it. As time goes by, you see what grows well, what doesn't, and you plan accordingly. I can't say much about mining, but with growing things, the same soil that will barely raise a potato will give you sunflowers so huge and brilliant you won't believe they can be real. Marriage is learning where to plant what for the best returns... and in the end, if you and your spouse just pay attention, you'll know what grows where, and the whole garden is full of food and flowers and happiness. Old couples are like two trees that grew together so long ago that it's hard for anyone to tell where the trunk of one stops and the other begins." He gave a laugh that was much more bitter than he intended. "That's what I've seen, anyway. Never been the marrying sort, myself."

"Ah." Balin said softly. "So your people follow Mahal's wife, Javun, instead of the Maker himself?"

Bilbo smiled finally, and his eyes twinkled with a bit of mischief for the first time all day. "I could say the same to you, Master Balin, and the other way round if you please! But yes, if I understand you correctly, we follow the Green Lady, who the elves call Yavanna Kementari, the wife of the great Smith who the elves know as Aule. We honor Her with our gardens and trees, as you honor Her husband with your crafts and workings. Funny enough, since we were just speaking of marriage, we counsel young hobbits in love to look to them for guidance. For the Smith and the Green Lady are quite unalike to the eye, but yet they are wed, and happily enough so, because they have learned to understand each other."

"Indeed, we do the same!" said Balin with a grin, "Our people are perhaps not so dissimilar as some might think. This has been very informative, and you are good company, Master Baggins!" The old dwarf's eyes were clear and direct as he said "And any misunderstandings were just that, nothing to fret over." Bilbo nodded in spite of himself, then felt a pang of guilt for how he had been acting.

"Of course, of course... I could, hm, fix you a bite to eat if you were still hungry." A half-smile, half grimace crossed his face. "After your dinner, I mean." The old dwarf's belly laugh caused the rest of the dwarves to look up, and Thorin in particular looked a bit put out by it... not that Bilbo was noticing, of course.

"Master Baggins, that would be very kind of you indeed. For some reason, dinner didn't seem to fill me up as it should." And with that, Bilbo bustled off to cook something for Balin, and for the first time all day he didn't feel quite so miserable.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some misunderstandings are resolved, Bilbo gets a geology lesson in spite of himself, and the dwarves convince the hobbit of their martial prowess.

After the previous evening's discussion with Balin, Bilbo saw his relations with the rest of the party in a different light. The next morning, he got up and fixed corn cakes for the group that had everyone smiling (probably remembering their dinner last night, Bilbo thought with a mental grin), and then he set out to resolve his other lingering issue. As he passed among the group where they were busily packing, he saw Ori. As had been true on the day before, he saw Ori's back as he walked away, but yesterday was quite different, he thought to himself. Enough of this. "Ori! A word, if you please." he called out loudly. The hobbit was utterly disgusted when Nar made a loud _ha!_ sound, and a disgusted-looking Dwalin handed over a pouch of coins. Wait, they had been... really? He would have taken time to be properly mad, but Ori had already turned around and was staring at him with a look of irritated discomfort.

"Yes?" Came the dwarf's cool reply. Bilbo suddenly realized they were in the middle of the camp with everyone's eyes on them. He also remembered the blank, unresponsive look he had gotten from Thorin the day before when he tried to apologize.

Hoping this wasn't yet another cultural confusion moment, he said "If you don't mind, perhaps we could step over here out of the way? I'd like to..." Before he could even complete the sentence, Ori strode off to the side of the camp and stood, clearly waiting. Fine, Bilbo grumped to himself, make this difficult why don't you, you blasted dwarf. Scurrying over, he decided to jump right in. "I'm not sure how dwarves apologize, so..."

"With great difficulty." Ori responded immediately, then looked like he could have bitten his tongue. Bilbo's loud giggle cut the tension better than anything else could possibly have done.

"Well, I suppose I must be half dwarf then, because this is proving quite difficult indeed." Bilbo giggled again, but Ori gave him a sharp look rather than laughing. An odd reaction, the hobbit thought. "But I do apologize. You were right, I was being very small minded, assuming that Shire social rules were common everywhere." In truth, Bilbo hadn't resolved his own internal problems with this at all, but he had realized that he much preferred to be friends with Ori than to stand on the principles he had been taught (which, honestly, now that he was questioning, he was having trouble justifying to himself).

"I apologize as well." Ori said shamefacedly. "I reacted poorly to what you said, and didn't stop to think that you weren't a dwarf and didn't know our ways. Let's speak no more of it." And with that, the whole topic seemed to be put down. Ori's body language changed and he picked up their conversation like nothing had happened. Bilbo was confounded; apologies in the Shire took forever, and everyone involved kept apologizing and poking and questioning and circling until sheer exhaustion made the apology stick. Yet another cultural difference, he supposed. Even the sight of a grinning Nar getting paid by the others (again!) didn't put a damper on Bilbo's good mood as they all got on the road again, though Vekkad's glare made him feel uncomfortable as always.

=

Over the next few days, the renewed conversations with Ori and a new feeling of closeness with Balin made Bilbo feel less alone. More than once, he glanced up and caught Thorin looking at him, but the leader of the group never said a word to him beyond a grumpy-sounding "thanks" upon receiving his food. They had passed out of the Shire proper and into the wilds by this point; harsh stone crags were all around, and the trees that had crowded the road in the Shire had finally petered out into the occasional scrubby pine clinging tenaciously to a rock face. They could see the mountains in the distance, looming on the horizon, but first they had to cross several days of stony wastes, the Ettenmoors.

The loud discussions of the dwarves in the Shire woods were a thing of the past. Everyone rode in silence here. There was a looming sense of danger in the craggy rocks and grassy stretches, though they saw nothing. More of concern to Bilbo even than the inhospitable terrain was the lack of animals. Every attempt Vekkad made to hunt here was unproductive, other than the occasional small bird or rabbit; nothing much seemed to live here. Luckily, the dwarves broke out some bags of a waybread they made known as cram, but it tasted like sawdust. With each day that passed, Bilbo regretted more sharply the somewhat luxurious meals he had fixed the dwarves in the early days. He had clearly misjudged the distances involved in this trip by a large amount. The irony was that they were still within the bounds of Arnor-that-was; though these lands were never exactly safe, they were once firmly held by the North Kingdom, before the rise of Angmar and its witch-king.

On the fifth day, after rethinking it every way he could find, the hobbit decided that there was no way around it. Late that afternoon, Bilbo rode forward to present his concerns to Thorin. After all, he reasoned, surely a leader should want to know that they were in danger of running out of food. When he drew closer, he heard Thorin's deep baritone voice talking to Balin, who was riding close beside him.

"I can't take it, old friend," he was saying quietly. "I know you don't believe me, but it's pulling at me like a wound. The descriptions don't do it justice. I see him and..." Breaking off, he looked back at a noise and saw Bilbo riding forward. Immediately, Thorin's handsome face did a very good impression of a door slamming shut. Bilbo wondered if he had imagined the agonized look the leader had held, but he thought that for a moment the dark-haired dwarf had looked to be as miserable as Bilbo could imagine any living being could be. He hoped desperately that Thorin wasn't getting sick; whatever would they do out here for medicine? A cold stare and deep rumble greeted the hobbit brusquely. "Yes?" Bilbo ignored Balin, who was sadly shaking his head where he sat to one side.

Feeling a bit flustered, Bilbo felt his color rising. Bebother and confusticate these dwarves, did everything have to be so... so unbelievably rude? The hobbit snapped "Food. We don't have enough." Although he could have kicked himself at this equally rude way of presenting their issue, at least it got Thorin to engage, he noticed. The cold stare became a shocked look, but one that focused on Bilbo himself instead of past him. "Ahem." He tried again. "That is to say, the hunting has been bad, and there's nothing here in the moors to forage. In the forest, we could find enough growing this time of year to supplement our stores, but I calculate at our current rates, we only have enough cram and other food to make it another two weeks. At the rate we were consuming our stores in the Shire, we could have made it a month easily." Thorin's brows drew down, and his eyes went vague, clearly calculating. "Is there good hunting between here and the mountains somewhere, or will we make it through the mountains in that time frame? Or do you have more food like cram set aside?"

"No, it will be about three weeks at current speed." Thorin said slowly, "And we don't have anything else. I had thought we brought enough food, but it would seem not. That's quite a problem." He stared into space for a moment, and chewed his lip. Bilbo found himself watching entranced as the dwarf's red lower lip was gnawed by white teeth, reappearing briefly all moist and shining, then back again... he snapped himself out of it, blushing furiously. Luckily Thorin didn't seem to notice, as he was still staring off into space, calculating routes. "If we pass south into the Trollshaws, there might be more game, but there might also be trolls. We would also have to swing north again to get to the pass we are currently heading directly towards; such a detour could add four days to our travels at a minimum. I don't remember this area being so empty when we came through before; Balin, what think you?" He glanced over at the old advisor, who gave a small smile to Bilbo before answering.

"No, lad, it wasn't like this the last time we passed through. Used to be deer here, rabbits, all sorts of things grazing. Besides, we're coming on to summer now, can't imagine where the animals have gone." His face suddenly went dark. He and Thorin looked at each other for a moment, leaving Bilbo completely confused, then Balin dropped behind and started talking to each of the others in turn.

"Thorin?" Bilbo said uneasily. "What's... the problem?" He looked over at the leader of the group, only to see a concerned look vanish immediately under the hobbit's eyes.

"Nothing," came the gruff reply as Thorin looked away. "Probably nothing at all, Balin's just warning everyone to be more careful just in case. Lack of game usually means something passed through and scared all the game away. We haven't seen any signs of danger, but never hurts to keep an eye out." Blue eyes flashed from side to side, clearly making a show of evaluating the landscape for potential threats.

"Could it be trolls?" Bilbo asked, then wished he hadn't. Wished he hadn't even thought about it. What he had heard of trolls was terrifying, especially since they were much larger than even men, let alone hobbits. Thorin glanced over and gave a sympathetic look before his face closed up again.

"It could be, but I doubt it. More likely wolves. Trolls usually come out of the mountains and head south of here; no caves in these parts, with these granite outcrops. Shouldn't be, anyway. There's some gneiss here, so I suppose you could get some minor caving if there was running water, but usually not enough to..." And he went on for a few minutes to Bilbo's dismay. He assumed Thorin was talking about rocks, but as the dwarf got more involved, talking about uplifts and banding and erosion patterns, the hobbit's head was spinning. Thorin's hands came off the reins as he started gesturing to passing stones, demonstrating something he called 'shear patterns' with various gestures and pointing to different rocks sticking out of the turf that, as far as Bilbo could see, were just rocks. He nodded and smiled along, pretending that he was listening to his great-aunt describe her flower garden and happy that Thorin was actually talking to him without being rude (and he shamefacedly thought it should be illegal for Thorin to look as good as he did when he was fully intent on a subject, eyes flashing and face smiling) but when Balin got back to the front of the line he interrupted the 'conversation' by laughing so hard he almost fell off his pony. Thorin gave his advisor an extremely sour look, which did nothing towards stilling the old dwarf's mirth; quite the contrary, actually.

"Thorin, lad, I don't think the hobbit's got the makings of a mine overseer. No offense, Master Baggins!" He said with a twinkling grin towards Bilbo. "Why are you giving him an overview of the stone features of this whole side of the Misty Mountains?" Although Bilbo had literally no idea of what Thorin had been nattering on about, he still felt bad to see the flush that passed across the handsome features. All the companionable openness that had started to reappear was quickly slammed back behind the stone wall of displeasure, and Bilbo was back to receiving the same frosty glare he had gotten as he rode up. The hobbit sighed and resisted the urge to hold the bridge of his nose. After reminding them both about the food situation and agreeing to let them know if he thought of anything, he fell back.

Of course, an hour later, they saw the cave.

As the sun sank below the hills to the west, they came over a rise and Thorin stopped dead. As the others drew up, one by one they stopped as well. Bilbo wondered what could possibly be below, but when he got level with them he understood. At the base of the hill to one side was a deep hole, oddly shaped and filled with impenetrable shadows. Even worse, the ground in front of it had been churned into muck by heavy feet. From this distance, the footprints were only visible as depressions, but clearly whatever made them was very large. Trolls, Bilbo thought, as a wave of despair rolled over him. I knew it.

Nar's voice broke the silence. "Cave's wrong." Thorin glanced over at him, then looked back, squinting down into the evening light. Bilbo couldn't figure out what they meant; it looked like a normal cave to him. "'S not natural. Look how it's cut out against the grain of the stone. Somebody carved that hole. Wasn't us, either - no dwarf would fight the stone like that." The others grunted and nodded. Bilbo remembered Ori saying that the burly dwarf was a stonemason, but it was impressive that he was able to see that much in the uncertain evening light. He himself could feel a twinge of... something... in the cave. He picked at the feeling, but it remained vague and elusive.

"Well." Thorin said softly. "Trolls it is. Wonderful. And it's too late in the day to clear out of here before they're up and about. Anyone want to guess how many we've got? Vekkad?"

The red-headed dwarf slipped off his pony in a trice, almost floating down the hill. Curious, thought Bilbo. Dwarves normally walked like they were mad at the ground, stumping along. Odd to see one that didn't move like that. He watched as Vekkad picked his way over to the muddy patch, looked at the tracks, then signaled with two fingers. Thorin sighed and nodded. Two trolls, Bilbo assumed. Vekkad eased back up the slope to where the ponies were as Thorin waved everyone closer.

"Vekkad, you run lure; Dwalin, you and Nar on side duty. I will call. Ori, you're sling and medic; Balin, you're backup. Master Baggins, stay here with the ponies." The group began to disperse, but Bilbo called out.

"I could help, you know," at which Thorin turned and raised an eyebrow.

"You are helping." Seeing the hobbit's incredulous look, he went on impatiently, "if you don't stay with the ponies, Ori will have to. You have no weapons, and you've never fought trolls before. You'll be useless in a fight, and will probably get yourself killed. Besides," he cut off Bilbo's angry response with a curt gesture, "these animals will try to run as soon as they smell troll. Someone has to stay, and you're just as good with calming them as any of us. Stop arguing and let us do what we're good at. Stay here." And with that, he whirled around and moved to the bottom. Bilbo let out a furious huff of breath, but pulled the ponies around so their heads faced the other way. Bilbo fastened the reins to a scrubby tree growing from a crack in the stone and began soothing the beasts, rubbing their noses and making gentle noises.

Down below, Vekkad took up a position directly in front of the gaping hole. Nar and Dwalin took their huge axes and eased along the walls so that they would be hidden from anything coming out until it was outside. Thorin was mostly out of view of the door, off to one side. Bilbo was shocked to realize Balin was still standing near him. No sooner had he spotted the old dwarf than Balin gave him a small grin, looked over at the hobbit and said "Could always be worse, lad!" and then scrambled down the hill with surprising dexterity to stand across from Thorin. Thorin waved his sword.

At once, Vekkad made a harsh whining bleat, exactly like a wounded goat. Bilbo was shocked; he had no idea the hunter had any such skill, but an interested snort came from the darkened archway. The light had faded, sun sunk below the horizon, but it was still light enough out to see. A loud snuffling noise was heard from inside the cave, and Vekkad made the noise again, followed by a truly disgusting burbling sound. How did he even do that, Bilbo wondered dazedly. He had heard a goat get its throat cut at a butcher's in Bree, and it made that exact noise.

A loud scuffling noise from the cave was followed by a huge scaly arm reaching out of the cave. Quickly, the rest of the troll unfolded out of the shadows and it stood, blinking its small eyes confusedly down at the dwarf and looking around for the goat it seemed to expect. Nar and Dwalin swung as one, and their axes bit deep into the scaly legs. The troll gave a shriek and stumbled forward; one of its legs buckled, the hamstrings having been cut by Nar's axe. Bilbo was shocked; the two biggest dwarves had swung with all their strength; their steel axes should have cut the trolls legs off at the knees. Instead, it looked like they had cut into a tree trunk instead of flesh. The cuts, though deep, were nothing like they should have been. Black blood gushed out of both wounds. Thorin leaped forward, swinging his sword at the arm in front of him as Vekkad fired an arrow at the troll's eyes. _"Baruk Khazad! Khazad ai-menu!"_ The troll floundered around, the two dwarves who had cut at its legs were on it now, chopping and hacking at its neck. It thrashed, but the dwarves dodged around it, Thorin stabbing as deeply as he could with his sword. It was soon over, and the troll lay still. Well, Bilbo thought, that wasn't bad at all. I suppose...

A furious bellow came from the cave. A stone the size of an iron kettle came flying from the darkness and hit Nar where he stood over the body of the dead troll, knocking him six feet away and flat on his back. The other dwarves scrambled back as Ori ran in to check on Nar and drag him away. Another troll, even larger than the first, came stomping out of the darkness, and this one was unsurprised. Thorin and Dwalin chivvied at it like wolves, but the troll had long arms that kept them too far back to cut at it. Even Bilbo could tell that if the troll could grasp one of them, the one it touched would never fight again. The troll bellowed in rage. Vekkad kept up a steady fire of arrows at its eyes and mouth, apparently the only weak points in its scaly hide. Balin cursed and ran in, snatching up Nar's axe but then stood back and watched closely rather than dancing around it like Thorin and Dwalin. What is he watching for, Bilbo wondered desperately, but by then the ponies were trying to fight and get away. He soothed them as best he could, dodging the sidestepping hooves and whispering to them, stroking their noses and calming them as they shivered. A loud shriek echoed from below; Bilbo risked a glance down and saw the troll pawing at its face with one of Vekkad's arrows protruding from its left eye socket. As soon as it was distracted, Dwalin and Thorin were slicing at its legs and it went down. Once it was felled, the troll ended the same way the other one had. The ponies calmed as the sounds stopped, but they were still rolling their eyes and showing teeth as the dwarves trudged back up the hill.

"Well fought, lads," Thorin said, brusque but proud. "King's Guard couldn't have done it better. Nar, you're going to have a hell of a bruise tomorrow, but anything broken?" The stocky dwarf groaned and cursed, but shook his head. Ori looked dubious, but gave a small headshake at Thorin's inquiring look. "Now, it's sundown and we seem to have come into possession of a troll-hole. What say we camp there, if we can stand it?" Bilbo was speechless. He couldn't imagine fighting one troll, but these dwarves had just taken down two like they were nothing! He started to say so, but Thorin turned to him and said "Secure the ponies before you join us," and helped Nar down the hill. The nerve of him, Bilbo thought furiously, forgetting in an instant how impressed he had just been. He untied the reins and walked them one by one down the hill, giving a wide berth to the dead trolls, and secured each pony to a pin driven into the ground so that each one had its own patch of grass to graze. The whole time he moved them he was grumbling about Thorin's cavalier treatment of him, despite knowing even as he did it that he was being a bit dramatic and ridiculous. By the time he got inside, however, someone had already lit a fire and the hobbit gasped to see Nar sitting with no shirt on, dabbing some sort of ointment onto huge bloody bruises across his entire chest in the pattern of his armor plates. Dwalin was joking with him in Khuzdul, and the two of them were laughing despite the horrible wounds on display. Bilbo thought he would never understand dwarves if he lived to be a thousand years old.

The hobbit looked around. The cave smelled unbelievably foul, half rotted meat and half a heavy, reptilian sort of stench, presumably the smell of troll. Past the fire, the cave went on inside for some distance. There were two piles of dried branches, apparently nests for the trolls. Towards the back, around a curve, Bilbo could vaguely see some sort of pile of something. Now that he was closer, a twinge of his magic sense told him there was something fairly powerful back there. In spite of himself, he peered around the corner. There was what looked like a larger troll nest, but there was no third troll (thank the Green Lady for that, he thought tiredly). Thorin glanced over at him as he got a stick out of one of the troll nests and turned it into a makeshift torch. "Master Baggins? Everything alright?" Thorin's eyes shone in the torchlight.

"Yes," Bilbo said distractedly. "There's something back here..." Without a word, Thorin rose and came with him. Bilbo rounded the corner and stopped. What he had thought was a larger troll nest was a tremendous pile of bones, and the top layer had scraps of rotting meat attached to some of them. Lovely, he thought as the smell made him gag, a troll's midden. Whatever he was sensing was buried in there somewhere. He thought briefly about just leaving it, but whatever it was seemed old and fairly strong now that he was closer to it. Now that he focused, there was a second, fainter thing with it. "Something of power, buried under all this mess. Feels like two items."

"Really?" Thorin smiled. "Let's see what we can find. Balin! Ori! You're the least tired, come help us shift this pile of filth if you will. The good hobbit says there's treasure under it." Every eye was suddenly turned to Bilbo. Oh, he thought grimly. I see. So this is when Thorin gets to demonstrate my party trick to everyone else. What was it Balin called it, the Deep Sight? Lovely. Nevertheless, after an hour or so of determined albeit disgusting excavation, two blades were revealed near the bottom of the pile, a decorated sword and a smaller simpler blade, basically a large dagger. Both were of Elvish make, and the larger of the two blades felt particularly powerful with enchantments. The dwarves were as pleased as if Bilbo had turned the bones into gold. A handful of jewelry and assorted other items had come out of the pile as well, but nothing else that shone with that almost-light of magic.

"So he does have the Deep Sight!" Nar kept chuckling to anyone who would listen. "Never would have believed it from a non-dwarf!" Vekkad was silent, but his face made it obvious he was impressed despite his obvious disdain for the hobbit. He forked over a few coins to Balin without complaint, and Bilbo realized with a sinking feeling that apparently the dwarves bet on everything. Thorin took the larger blade, but passed the smaller one to Bilbo.

"Here, Master Baggins. You need a weapon, and it's fair to give you one you found yourself. May it keep you always safe." Bilbo buckled on the small blade, wishing nothing more than that he was back at home and away from trolls and dwarves and the rest of this miserable adventure.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bilbo discovers a bit more of dwarven culture, has a conversation which reveals something he didn't know about himself, and then has a realization that proves too much to process.

The little hollow the carved out troll-hole nestled in was somewhat protected by the outcrop on two sides, but it was open on the other two. It was decided (mainly by Thorin, and at great length) that it would be good to have the cave as a fall-back spot in case there were more trolls or something else about in the night. 

After a tasteless and barely-filling meal of cram, Bilbo returned to the cave and helped Ori haul the piles of filthy branches out and pile them far away from the ponies, where the smell wouldn't spook them. Balin and Dwalin hauled and dragged the corpses of the trolls to the edge of the shallow depression where the camp was located, and watching them do so made Bilbo sharply revise his ideas of how strong dwarves were; watching them move those enormous, dense bodies was amazing. Inside the cave, the foul snake-pit smell of troll was already dispersing, but the rotted-meat stench of the remaining bone pile was still strong. The hobbit realized on his second or third trip back inside, he didn't like the cave, smell or no smell; something in it made him feel off-balance, like the floor was tilted (though it clearly wasn't). As Bilbo hauled the last of the sticks out to where the fire was, Thorin stood up by the little campfire and addressed the dwarves. When Bilbo realized it seemed to be a formal occasion, he went over and stood next to Balin. He couldn't help admiring how effortlessly Thorin seized the attention of the group by his presence alone. If he hadn't known already that Thorin was a prince, that trait alone would have made him suspect it.

"My friends and companions... You fought well today. With little armor, we defeated two stone trolls and lost no-one, indeed without even a serious injury... though some of us should learn to dodge." This last sardonic remark was addressed to Nar, who laughed harder than any of the others. Bilbo was becoming resigned to the idea that apparently, physical danger that didn't result in anyone being seriously hurt was the dwarven version of idle amusement. Thorin continued, "The true victor of the final battle was Vekkad, whose arrows turned a bad situation around. I know we are out here in the middle of nothing and I don't have a lot to hand, but Vekkad, in reward for your service today, I grant you a boon. Choose well." A murmur swept around the campsite, but the red-headed dwarf looked around and nodded, appearing unsurprised. Bilbo had to admit, though he didn't like the Firebeard dwarf, he had fought valiantly. He didn't know anyone else who could have stood with only a bow in front of a raging troll and kept their cool, let alone made skilled shots with that bow while in such danger. Even still, though, a boon was a great gift indeed, if the dwarves meant the same by the practice as the Numenoreans. Bilbo wondered if the slight-built Firebeard would claim the jeweled sword they had found.

"You honor me, my prince," he said in a carrying voice. "I request a _fahanon_, to remind us of the clear path." Thorin's eyes narrowed for a moment, considering the shorter dwarf in front of him.

"You surprise me, Vekkad. I had not thought you particularly devout." Bilbo wondered what was going on; he noticed that Balin seemed a bit tense, and the look on Nar's face was speculative. Dwalin was glaring, but then when was he not? Only Ori seemed unaffected. The hobbit reflected that this was clearly some aspect of dwarven culture he hadn't encountered yet. What on earth was a _fahanon_?

"We all should be reminded from time to time of the wisdom of our elders, my prince. I request a _fahanon_ on Vuti and the Goat. Tonight." A chorus of indrawn breaths was the result of this, and Vekkad's face was clearly challenging, though he didn't look smug. Once again, the red-bearded hunter had the expression of a person doing an unpleasant duty.

Bilbo noticed everyone else immediately looking away from both the irritating Firebeard and Thorin. Beside him he heard Balin mutter "Oh, that was ill-done," under his breath. He itched to be able to ask what was going on, but clearly this was none of his business - honestly, he felt like he was spying on something he wasn't supposed to see. Thorin's face looked like a thundercloud.

"Perhaps a different story," the prince ground out between clenched teeth. "I do not see that the lessons of Vuti are relevant to our current quest. Besides, we don't have seven, so it won't be a proper _fahanon_ even if we..."

"Do you refuse my boon?" came the cool response, interrupting Thorin's objections. From the worried glances around the fire, the hobbit had a sinking feeling that dwarven boons did in fact follow the Numenorean rules he was familiar with, which meant that Thorin was well and truly caught. If he refused the first request after granting the boon, the second request _must_ be granted, no matter how ridiculous it was. Vekkad could demand his throne, his life, anything. The thought of Thorin placing himself completely at anyone else's mercy like that frightened Bilbo at a visceral level, somehow. Even worse that it would involve being at the mercy of someone who clearly had no scruples at all! He felt a sense of tension around the campsite now, everyone looking around uneasily.

"No," Thorin finally said, almost spitting the word. "As you have asked, it shall be done. Ori!" The young scribe jerked guiltily and stood up. "You know the chant for Vuti?" The nod in response seemed to disgust Thorin, but the flash of obvious displeasure lasted only a split second. Quickly he gave the others a smile that was much more teeth than joy. "Then come, brothers, let us study together." Balin shook his head with a mournful expression, but sat down along with the rest, leaving Ori standing and looking somewhat uncomfortable among the other dwarves.

"_Hrum_!" Ori said loudly, and everyone except Nar responded with the same word in Khuzdul. Nar stood up, gave Vekkad a disgusted look, and walked into the cave, touching the stone wall. The red-haired dwarf didn't even look up as Nar left, busy staring at Thorin. Bilbo glanced around and thought briefly about leaving the campsite for a bit, but true night had fallen and he didn't want to be alone out on the moors at night, especially since the light of their fire would be visible for a long distance. He finally came to a decision and slipped away to join the stocky Broadbeam inside. Whatever was going on with the rest of the company, this clearly wasn't anything he could help resolve, and the tension was still thick as Ori began to recite what sounded like a long poem in Khuzdul, the others seeming to listen attentively.

When he got inside, Nar was standing with his eyes closed, hand pressed to the wall. Bilbo worried that maybe the massive dwarf's wounds were worse than anyone thought. "Are you alright, Nar?" he said worriedly. "I can get one of the others if you..." A loud snort was the response.

"Ha! Kind of you, Master Baggins, but I'm fine. Bit banged up, I suppose, but it's what I get for standing around like a lump not paying attention when I knew there was an angry troll about! No, I'm fine. Just feeling sad for this poor stone. Trolls don't dig, but orcs made this burrow, I'll warrant; just hacked a hole in the rock any old sort of way, no manners at all." How odd, Bilbo thought. The other dwarf was talking like the stone had feelings. Perhaps this was the stone sense that Balin had mentioned?

"So you... feel emotions from the stone?" Bilbo asked timidly. The Broadbeam warrior made a noncommittal sound.

"Not exactly, but it's as good a way to think on it as any, I suppose. Stone has a flow to it. When you cut it with the flow, it feels natural; when you cut against the flow, it feels... eh, wrong, I suppose. Jagged, sad, harsh." Nar looked pensive, and Bilbo had a flash of memory of himself as barely more than a fauntling, trying to carve a piece of wood and not understanding the grain, and the horrible mess he made out of a nice piece of soft maple. But he didn't feel the grain or have any intuitive sense of it, it was just something he saw. The hobbit still felt that unpleasant sense of unevenness in the cave, though.

"I did notice earlier that when I'm in here, it feels unpleasant. Sort of like the floor is, hm, uneven, or maybe tilted? Don't know how to describe it. But I'm not sure..." he stopped because Nar was staring at him with a peculiar, intent expression.

"Does it? Does it now? Well, that's interesting and more than interesting, Master Baggins." The dwarf came over to him, and Bilbo was reminded of just how amazingly big he was. Now that the hobbit had seen an actual troll, he couldn't really compare the dwarf with that, but he was overpoweringly wide for his height. "Tell me, would you agree to a little test? Do you trust me enough to let me blindfold you, just for a few minutes?" Bilbo felt a sense of mild alarm.

"Blindfold? I... well... I mean... it's not that I don't trust you exactly, I just..." Nar smiled and made a calming gesture with his hands.

"I understand. I'm asking a lot. Never mind the blindfold, then, let's try something else. Just close your eyes and try to keep them shut." Bilbo did so. The sound of chanted Khuzdul outside was almost calming, Ori's voice rising and falling, making even the lingering smell less troublesome somehow. "Now," Nar said quietly, "if there was a spot in this cave that felt the worst, where would it be? Find it for me." Bilbo had no idea, really, and almost said so, but with his eyes closed that off-balance feeling was even stronger. Maybe that's what Nar meant? At any rate, it wasn't like he was in any danger in here with all the rest right outside the entrance, and there was no sense of threat from the enormous stonemason (despite the size of him). He wandered around, playing a fauntling's game of warm and cold with the feeling until finally he stepped in a spot near one wall where it was so strong he almost fell over. His eyes flew open without even thinking about it.

"Here," he gasped. "It feels the worst here." Nar grinned from ear to ear.

"It does indeed, doesn't it just? Well, well, well. Close your eyes again... and come off that spot, don't need you wasting your dinner by tossing it on my shoes. Cram's bad enough going down, it's merry hell coming back." The stocky dwarf gave a rumbling laugh, then winced. Bilbo walked over to him and closed his eyes and he felt huge hands close on his shoulders and spin him around several times. Slightly dizzy, he had no idea what was going on, but Nar said "Where's the exit? Point to it. Now." Without thinking, his hand pointed to one side. It felt... empty there. The process was repeated three more times, and each time he pointed in what seemed like a random direction, wherever he felt that sense of openness. By the last spin, he was so dizzy he was ready to fall over, and he opened his eyes and sat down. The exit was indeed right where he had been pointing.

"I can't take much more spinning, I'm afraid," he said, but Nar was looking at him with a frankly appraising look that made him deeply uncomfortable. "Why are you giving me that look?"

Nar's response made Bilbo feel even more off-balance than all the spinning in circles had done. "You've stone sense, Master Baggins. At least a bit of it, as much as we can test anything in this wretched little orc-scrape. So that makes two dwarven senses you've got, and you not a dwarf. You're an odd one, and no mistake." Bilbo was utterly confounded.

"What... I've... what?! I can't! I mean, surely I would have known about something like that!" Bilbo couldn't remember ever feeling so completely floored. How on earth could Nar think that he had some sort of dwarven earth sense? He was almost fifty years old, surely he'd have known! This was ridiculous.

"Not necessarily. In fact, what little I saw of the Shire, not likely that you would. Ever been in a mine? A cave? Even a quarry? Gone deeper in the earth than the dirt?" Bilbo had to admit he hadn't. The Shire had a thick, rich layer of topsoil, so there wasn't much exposed stone anywhere, even in Buckland. Nar took one look at his face and clearly realized the answer to his questions. "There you are, then. How would you know? 'Twould be like saying 'oh for sure I'd have noticed I could swim' without ever being near a pool of water." The Broadbeam suddenly grinned at him. "You might be a hobbit to look at, Master Baggins, but you seem to have the soul of a dwarf, and if that isn't the strangest thing I've ever heard, I'm a rabbit." Nar's eyes cut to the door, then back. "Once they're done playing along with Vekkad's little temper tantrum, I'll have a wee chat with Thorin."

"Thorin?" Bilbo said worriedly. He felt a sharp sense of discomfort as a vision of judgmental blue eyes staring at him rose up in his mind, eyes he had seen looking that way far too much since this trip began. "I don't think... I mean, what difference does it make, really? I can just..." Nar's laughter was so loud in the small space Bilbo's ears rang.

"What difference...? Are you mad? Oh, don't worry yourself, Master Baggins, I'm not telling tales on you to your... Um, to Thorin. This is a good thing, a grand thing, make no mistake. When we get to Sarkhubuland, no telling what shape the city'll be in - if we don't have to worry so much about you wandering off and getting lost, that's great news. Though with your Deep Sight as strong as it seems to be, we'll likely be following you around instead of the other way round. How far away were you when you felt that sword? Could you feel it from all the way up on the ridge with the ponies?" At Bilbo's hesitant nod, the stocky dwarf's delight was obvious. He winced suddenly and put his hand on his bruises, but even so his eyes were laughing. "With a range like that, no wonder you get right up Vekkad's pointy little nose! Oh by Mahal's glowing hammer, you're going to be such a help to us. Maybe this little adventure will be easier than I feared." Black eyes twinkled at Bilbo above the thick black beard. "Assuming, of course, there's not a giant cold drake still curled up in the middle of the city, just waiting for us to stop by for a chat. But you'd probably be able to feel that, too." Bilbo realized in shock that he had completely forgotten Thorin mentioning the dragon. What on earth were they going to do about the dragon? With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Bilbo realized that they were all probably going to die. Horribly. He couldn't think about that right now, though, especially with Nar looking at him with such a delighted expression. Nar, he thought sourly, who had never looked anything other than grim and surly for the weeks they'd been traveling, Nar who barely spoke five words all day on a normal day, now chattering along like an old friend and beaming like a relative! At that thought, he realized the chanting outside seemed to have stopped.

"Speaking of Thorin... I know it's none of my business, but what was all that about outside?" Bilbo asked quietly. "I know what boons are, but..." Nar's apparent good humor vanished immediately. He shook his head, a sullen expression on his face.

"I'm not the one to ask. Vekkad was being a right ass, and leave it at that. If you really want to know more, you'll need to ask Ori or someone else. You might seem to have the soul of a dwarf, but you're not one, no offense. I'm afraid I'm not the one to explain our customs to you." And with a curt nod, Nar wandered off without, Bilbo thought, so much as a by your leave! Really, these dwarves were exasperating. Now that he mentioned it though... Bilbo realized that for a culture as famously closemouthed as the dwarves, certain of his companions certainly had been volunteering an awful lot of information to him as an outsider. First Thorin, then Ori, then Balin, everyone cheerfully comparing cultures and explaining what was going on like it was perfectly normal. Which, Bilbo thought, it would have been, if they had been men or elves or... well, anything but dwarves, really. It wasn't like they were braiding his hair and teaching him Khuzdul, but he still felt a bit odd when he thought about just how much information had been volunteered to him, and he couldn't help but wonder about the reason. Despite the wear and stains of travel, his coat and breeches could never be mistaken for dwarf clothing. From his bare feet to his beardless face and curly blondish hair, nobody would ever confuse him for anything but a hobbit, so why were the dwarves suddenly so forthcoming?

Bilbo's train of thought was suddenly brought to an abrupt halt by the sight of Thorin storming into the cave, stopping at the entrance to talk to Nar. The two dwarves in the front of the cave conversed in low tones. He chose to ignore Nar's gestures in his direction, wishing he could go back in time and intentionally fail those tests. Well, Thorin hadn't been storming exactly, but he had been moving very quickly and purposefully, Bilbo thought, and his cloak and long grey-streaked dark hair were swirling dramatically and his eyes looked so intense and beautif... catching himself, the hobbit snapped his gaze back down to his hands. Good gracious, what on earth was he thinking? He should be ashamed, he was acting like a smitten tween! He... uh... oh. The word rolled around in his head quite a bit more than he would have ever expected. Smitten. Smitten. Smit... ten. The sinking feeling he had felt earlier was back, multiplied tenfold, as Bilbo realized he, a perfectly respectable hobbit, practically middle aged at that, had developed (of all wretched things) a crush on Thorin, son of Thrain, Prince of Erebor. A rather bad one, it seemed. Just when he thought he had surely managed to plumb the veriest depths of humiliation, it seemed life was always willing to show him a new, deeper area full of disgrace to explore. He was deeply ashamed of himself, and the Green Lady alone knew how he would be able to face his neighbors when he went home. As if in a dream, Bilbo felt like he was watching himself from a distance as his legs folded up and set him down with his back to the wall. As he felt the wetness, he realized that tears were streaming down his face.

When he was just a fauntling, he and Hamfast Gamgee from down the Hill had spent the better part of a day built a dam across a small trickle of stream. At first, it had seemed to hold, and the two younglings were very proud of their engineering. After just a bit, though, Bilbo noticed a tiny trickle of water barely sliding through the mud along a stick they had included as a brace. It didn't look like much water at all. Still, within mere minutes, that trickle had grown until an entire section of the dam vanished and water rushed through the hole, destroying all the afternoon's hard work. He hadn't thought about that in almost thirty years, but he suddenly felt like his mind was that dam. Bilbo had always been respectable. He had spent years doing the right thing, even when he didn't want to, even when he wanted to do literally anything else. He had visited and tended and gossiped and sent polite notes like a very paragon of hobbit manners. Even the truly hateful people in the Shire hadn't a leg to stand on if they tried to criticize his behavior. But then, like a fool, a handsome dwarf showed up out of nowhere and in the face, in the very _teeth_, of the respectability that he had spent forty years maintaining, he had agreed to accompany the dwarves to who knows where, leaving his home and everything familiar. He had blindly taken questionable advice from a wizard, one whose wandering ways ensured that he was a disreputable character in the Shire, no matter how good his fireworks might be. He had been insulted, ignored, stared at, shouted at, and had his deepest beliefs questioned and thrown back in his face. He had faced bears, trolls, and been reminded that at the end of this mad jaunt there might very well be a dragon. To wrap it all up, he had been shown to have skills he shouldn't have had, very unhobbitish skills, told by someone he barely knew that he was more dwarf than hobbit, and as if that weren't enough, his own mind seemed determined to agree with the statement. No respectable hobbit would ever feel emotions like that about another person of the same sex, let alone another person who wasn't even a hobbit at all! He tried to sob as quietly as he could, and Bilbo thought that if it were in any way possible that he would rather die than continue like this. The worst of it was, each time he would think something along the lines of 'just pull yourself together' or 'now that's enough of that', instead of the crying slowing, it got worse. For the first time in forty years, Bilbo Baggins was truly out of control, and that was even more frightening to him than anything else, even trolls.

He couldn't have said later how long he was there. Probably not long, though it seemed like an eternity. He just sat, staring mournfully at his own feet, misery echoing around in his head like a stone in a rolling barrel... until he realized that his eyes were seeing a set of boots in front of him. He was so immersed in his own problems, he hadn't even heard someone approaching. If there had been anything approximating justice in the world, Bilbo realized that at that moment, he would have developed the ability to just... dissolve. Much more useful than sensing magic, more useful than stone sense, even more useful than the ability to cook, he just wanted to sink into the rock underneath him and be gone. Even as he determined not to react to this new presence, he found himself glancing up. When he saw Thorin's face, he was transfixed. The handsome dwarf looked furious, practically incandescent with rage. Bilbo had no idea what he had done, but with how he felt right now, the hobbit hoped that Thorin would just kill him and leave him here. At least that way he wouldn't have to deal with any more shame and disappointment.

Thorin's usually smooth baritone grated like stones grinding against each other. "Who has hurt you?" At first the words didn't even make sense. Bilbo was expecting shouting, accusations, rage... anything really, except a question. Please, he thought tiredly. Please don't make me speak. Thorin crouched down, still practically vibrating with fury. "Who has hurt you? I will kill him." Shock didn't begin to encompass what Bilbo was feeling, but it seemed to fit the rest of the evening fairly well, he thought. He didn't know what Thorin was talking about, and really it didn't matter. It didn't seem things could get any stranger.

"No..." his throat seized up briefly and Bilbo coughed, then tried again. "Nobody hurt me, Thorin. I'm... well, I'll be fine. I just... please just leave me alone for a bit." In spite of everything, forty years of ruthless social conditioning forced the hobbit's mouth open again. "I'm terribly sorry, I must look a fright. Whatever must you think of me! I never meant to be any trouble." Just hearing himself, he wanted to scream. Even when he thought he might be dying of misery, his stupid mouth just nattered along on its own, oh, so sorry to inconvenience you with my utter inability to deal with the flaming wreckage of my life, the total and complete ruination of all my hopes and dreams, would you like some tea? Perhaps a scone? The sheer ridiculousness of his ingrained social responses struck him all at once, and Bilbo started laughing in spite of himself. He knew he must look like a lunatic, in fact he might very well _be_ a lunatic, sitting in the filth of the floor with messy hair and tear tracks all over his face, cackling like a fool. Thorin was staring at him like he had grown a second head, and that made him laugh even harder. Even as hysteria took hold, Thorin's eyes never left his. He reached out his hand tentatively, offering comfort, and Bilbo flinched away; he could never let Thorin touch him, especially with the filthy desires infesting his mind. And why, of all the dwarves here, part of Bilbo wondered, why is it Thorin who is standing here looking at me like I just had him flogged? This is the same Thorin that has huffed and glared at me nonstop since I tried to feed him good food over a week ago, who stares at me day and night like I just killed his pet, whose only pleasant words to me for days and days have involved obscure stone formations! Even that was funny, and he continued laughing at the sheer impossible madness of it all. Thorin just stood there (Green Lady, why wouldn't he just _go away_!?) with an awkward, uncomfortable look on his face, watching Bilbo lose all emotional control in silence. After five minutes or so, give or take a thousand years, Balin came in with a wide grin at the sight of Thorin and Bilbo, then looked closely at each as his face fell. Bilbo had stopped laughing, and was just sitting, staring, as Balin took Thorin by the shoulder and wordlessly led him outside. Looking down at his filthy, unkempt feet, his stained traveling clothes, his grimy hands, knowing that his hair and face were at in a similar condition if not worse, Bilbo wondered where everything had gone so completely, crashingly wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so... Tolkien made it clear that he based the dwarves on the Jews. Since dwarves are lore-driven, it seemed to me that they would require lore stories, which could be studied ritually. Thus, the _fahanon_. And since they would require a _minyan_ to properly study, it would HAVE to be seven dwarves, wouldn't it? One for each of the fathers of the clans. I would give a little backstory about what Vuti and the Goat was about but... all will become clear in time. :D


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bilbo is shocked to meet someone unexpected in such an out-of-the-way place, receives some mostly welcome advice, and a lot of travel gets made on low rations.

Bilbo was uncertain how long he stayed inside the troll-hole, slumped against the stone wall. Hours, certainly. He had stopped thinking after a while, and that was likely for the best. All the various feelings of wrongness, upset, sadness, misery and anger had arisen and then faded. Now he was just... empty. Hollow as a jar. Part of him realized he should probably be hungry; after all, it had been quite a while since the slice of cram that he had eaten for dinner, and what a paltry meal that was! When he thought of moving a sudden pain informed him that his backside was quite tired of cold hard stone, and the severity of that pain seemed to indicate that this wasn't the first complaint it had registered. Hardly surprising, though. His mind had been busy. If, he thought bitterly, shattering into a million shards and fragments could be called 'busy'. He fought his way to his feet, moving stiffly and grumbling under his breath. Everything hurt. He went outside, and a glance at the sky told him the sorry truth; it was already the third watch of the night. A waning crescent hung high in the sky. As he had half suspected, he had spent most of the night sitting in that noisome cave. The dwarves were bundled up in their bedrolls, all except for the nearly hidden shape of Ori sitting watch on the ridge, staring northward. The young scholar was wrapped close in his cloak, sitting pressed against the edge of the stone outcrop that overshadowed the camp.

The hobbit realized that trying to get to sleep was useless. He shuffled up next to Ori and sat. Despite clear skies, in the distance there were flickers like lightning. "What is it?" he asked in a low voice. "Summer storm?" Ori shook his head, seemingly more in puzzlement than negation.

"I don't know. The light is white, like lightning more than fire, but there's no clouds to be seen." Bilbo was achingly grateful that the dwarf didn't even spare him a sideways glance. The hobbit felt abraded and raw in his soul, shockingly vulnerable, and even the idea of being looked at was more than he wanted. "If it were some devilry of the orcs, the light would be dark and smoky, not brilliant white. I don't know what to make of it." The lights in the distance wavered and died, then flared once more. After that, no more flares were seen. The night's darkness was uninterrupted, and no rumble of thunder or other sound came to them, just the night songs of unseen insects. After a few minutes, Ori sighed. "Show's over, I suppose." Bilbo felt more than saw the young dwarf look over, but there was no sense of judgment or any other negative emotion. "You were in there a very long time, Master Baggins."

"Call me Bilbo." The hobbit slumped down where he sat. "No point in being formal out here." A flare of misery went through him like fire, suddenly, and Bilbo would have wept if he had any tears left. As it was, his voice cracked when he said "Not much point in formality at all, is there?" Ori's leaned forward into the moonlight and his concerned look felt like a hot brand.

"I don't know what happened in there, Ma... Bilbo. It's none of my business, I know. But if I can help, or listen, I'm here." The dwarf patted him clumsily on the shoulder, and Bilbo almost flinched from the touch but managed to resist. Ori was his friend, at least as much of one as he had out here. Bilbo shivered.

"It's hard to explain. Nothing in particular happened." The hobbit glanced away, instinctively turning away from Ori's face. "Everything was just suddenly too much." Bilbo felt exhausted, suddenly, like he had just sat down after running halfway across Hobbiton. He started to apologize but bit back the urge to speak again. If nothing else, he didn't need to have another attack of hysteria over the sheer uselessness of the social chatter he had spent so much of his apparently ill-used life mastering. "Could I just... sit with you for a bit?"

"Of course." was Ori's response, and that was the last words they spoke. Slowly the hours passed until dawn, and the landscape eased into view as the light strengthened. Bilbo had been drifting in his own thoughts, half asleep, and enjoying the warmth of the dwarven body beside him, when suddenly Ori jerked to attention. A rider came into view, moving quickly towards the camp. Glancing up, Bilbo realized that a wisp of smoke had gone up from the remains of the previous night's campfire. Ori wasted no time. "Up!" he said loudly. "Rider approaching from the north." Bilbo was astonished as the dwarves immediately rolled out of their bedrolls and had weapons in their hands before they even had boots on their feet. Within two minutes, Thorin was striding over, sparing barely a glance for Bilbo. The hobbit was feeling a renewed desire for the earth to open and swallow him up just being this close to the handsome dwarf.

"What do you see?" Glancing down, he peered at the approaching rider, who was now easily visible. The rider seemed to be a man, and his mount was a grey horse which moved at a half-gallop designed to eat up the miles without exhaustion. Strangely, the man used no saddle or bridle, but the horse followed his directions even so. Thorin glanced over at the hobbit, then quickly away. "Master Baggins, perhaps you should head back down to the camp, in case this encounter proves dangerous." Bilbo would have argued a few days ago, but just nodded and moved around the two dwarves to go hide. He took one more look at the rider before descending, however, and he saw a staff in that rider's hand. He couldn't sense the aura of power yet, but just seeing the staff he immediately knew who was approaching.

"It's Gandalf," he said numbly. "But why is he here?" Thorin turned fully to look at him, suspicious look on his face.

"What? Who is Gandalf?" Bilbo wasn't even sure how to explain the wizard to someone who didn't know him, especially when his mind was already so exhausted.

"Gandalf the Grey. He's... a wizard, he was friends with my grandfather. Mine too, as much as a wizard can be. I've known him all my life. He travels a lot, but... I have no idea why he would be here." Thorin shook his head in confusion, dark braids swinging. He peered down, then his face cleared. His suspicious look faded completely and was replaced by an expression of understanding.

"Oh, Tharkun! It has been long since I heard him introduced as Gandalf, but Tharkun we know. Mithrandir, the elves call him, though why they have to give their own name to everything, who can say." Bilbo bit his tongue to keep from pointing out the irony of a dwarf who had spent the previous night chanting in Khuzdul grumbling about another race for having their own names for things. But no, he thought. After his revelations of the previous night, the less personal and involved his interactions with Thorin, the better. Teasing was right out. Turning back to the camp, Thorin raised his voice and called "Stand down, lads. Don't go back to bed, though, just in case Tharkun's on the run from someone." Within less than a quarter of an hour, Gandalf was swinging down from his horse and looking around in amazement.

"Old as I am, I can still be shocked. Dwarves in the middle of the Ettenmoors, led by Thorin Oakenshield no less." Gandalf chuckled as he strode across the camp to greet Thorin, clasping his forearm. "What brings a prince of Erebor to a troll-hole?" The old wizard's keen eyes tracked movement among the baggage, and his mouth dropped open in shock. "And Bilbo Baggins, as I live and breathe! This chance meeting just went from strange to unbelievable." The hobbit came over and smiled at Gandalf but knew that his face told more of his misery than he would ever desire to be known. The old wizard took one look at his face, sighed softly, and then turned back to Thorin with a diplomatic smile.

Thorin bent in a half-bow. "Tharkun, welcome to our fire and hospitality, such as it is. Were you followed?"

"Followed no longer," Gandalf said with a twinkle in his eyes, "but you must depart this place quickly. Indeed, there is no safety between Rivendell and the Great Ice in the north, I'm afraid, at least on this side of the mountains. I came from Fornost by way of the ruins of Angmar, and the whole north is boiling like a stirred anthill. The orcs seem to have found a leader to replace Azog." Thorin made a terrible face and spit on the ground at the name.

"You are a friend to Erebor and to the line of Durin, Tharkun, but I would ask you not to name that name again in my presence. For vengeance on my grandfather's murderer, _kakhuf inbarathrag_ that he was, the Seven Clans lost too many lives. But I find it hard to believe that even in a hundred years, the filthy orcs could breed enough replacements to be a threat. We killed so many that surely the mountains must still be empty." Thorin gestured at the campfire, now being poked back to life by Balin. "Food? Water? All we have is cram and dried meat, but a meal is yours if you wish it." Gandalf's eyes gauged the weight of the food sacks, looked around the camp and seemed to come to his own conclusions.

"I thank you but I have eaten already, or as good as. These past few days I have subsisted on the draughts of the elves." Laughing at the face Thorin pulled, he went on "Think what you will of the arts of the elves, Thorin Oakenshield, but the _miruvor_ of Elrond has saved my life and mind both in the past few days." The wizard became serious, all humor fleeing his face. "But I tell you truly, Thorin, this land is unsafe. Patrols of warg-riders are about, and the trolls who lived here would soon have been recruited for war if they hadn't met," the wizard grinned briefly, "another fate. I am surprised you have managed to pass undetected. May you continue to do so, but make haste." Thorin's face was dour, but he nodded and went to give instructions to the others on packing. "Now, Bilbo, my lad!" Gandalf waved grandly, clearly choosing to act like Bilbo was just out for a jaunt in the countryside. "how did you come to be caught up with this group of ruffians?" The dwarves nearby grumbled at this characterization of themselves as Gandalf placed his hand on the hobbit's shoulder and led him off to one side. The headache Bilbo was accustomed to getting from the aura of power around the wizard was almost welcome, a reminder of simpler, cozier times. He was overcome for a moment with a longing for his own smial and kitchen so strong it took his breath away.

"I just wanted to help them, they had..." Bilbo started to explain, then stopped. Gandalf was watching him with the look he often used when Bilbo was a tiny fauntling, when he would tell some fanciful tale that he wanted to pretend was true, and the hobbit's throat just closed up. Suddenly, shockingly, he realized he was about to cry. "Gandalf," he whispered, "it's all gone horribly, awfully wrong. I don't even know who I am any more."

"Bilbo," the old wizard said softly, "you are who you have always been. You are kind, and faithful, and fierce as a lion underneath that meek exterior you wear. Whatever has upset you, you are strong enough to weather it. Just remember your strength." He sat, folding his long body down onto the earth, wrapping his hands around his staff and nodding to the side for Bilbo to do the same. "Now, what has set your heart into such a whirl?" Bilbo's eyes whipped up to meet the wizard's look, but he realized (a moment too late) that Gandalf was simply speaking in general, not displaying some secret knowledge. Knowledge which the hobbit halfway suspected wasn't quite so secret now. He blurted out the first thing he could think of to cover up the unspoken issue of his feelings for Thorin. He wasn't even able to talk about that to himself, certainly not to some meddling old wizard, friend or not.

"Nar said I have stone sense." Bushy grey eyebrows shot up on Gandalf's face at this bit of news. Bilbo continued quickly, blurting out "He said I have at least two of the senses that belong to dwarves, because of my sensitivity to magic which you know about already, they call that the Deep Sight, and then he said I have the soul of a dwarf. What does that even mean?" He realized that he was babbling like a fauntling. Bilbo came to the belated realization that he was just too tired to try to speak rationally with anyone, let alone someone as perceptive as Gandalf. The emotional night and no sleep combined to make him feel like he was floating above his own body, hardly a state from which to be clear, let alone clever.

"Well," Gandalf said with a bemused expression, "souls are complicated and tricky things, and I'm a great deal more hesitant than this Nar to make arbitrary pronouncements about them. It is quite interesting, though, that you have stone sense; it isn't a thing I have heard of a hobbit having before, but then again, when would hobbits be in the deep places of the world? So it may very well be common and simply unknown and unused." He paused and stared into empty space for a moment. "Even so... hm. If you have the dwarven sense of magic, then... well, that would explain why our attempts to teach you elf-style magic didn't work, wouldn't it?" Bilbo nodded and laughed in spite of himself. When he first learned of his strong sensitivity to the presence of magic, he had hoped to get the wizard or some of the elves to teach him some of their simpler charms. In spite of his best efforts, he had always been unable to work even the easiest of spells they had shown him, things even the most unmagical elven children could do. Despite being able to feel when others did it, his own attempts were empty.

"I'm actually here because of you, you know." Blast and drat, he hadn't meant to say that, if only he wasn't so bloody tired. Bilbo sighed deeply at Gandalf's questioning look. "You told me the last time I saw you that when the raven came to my door and asked for help, I needed to go with it." He nodded at Thorin's surcoat where the raven emblem was clearly visible, and the old wizard's face lit up with comprehension. "You never told me what use I would be, though. It's all fine and good to say I needed to come, but why? Why did you send me on this horrible trip?" The wizard's face creased with an unreadable expression.

"Ah. Well." Gandalf pulled out his pipe and began packing it, making Bilbo remember his own pipe for the first time in days. The last thing he needed was anything else to dull his mind, but tonight before bed... well, the pouch of Longbottom Leaf he had brought would come in great handy. Gandalf looked up at him from beneath his brows. "I think I told you at breakfast that day that my memory is tricky at the best of times. It was no more than the truth. But whatever you are doing here, it is clearly important. I can only assume the dwarves are looking for some item of power which is why they fetched you out of your cozy smial?" Gandalf lit his pipe and watched the hobbit closely. And just like that, Bilbo was on the hot seat. The urge to tell Gandalf everything was sitting on the tip of his tongue like a coal, burning him to speak, but he had given Thorin his word not to repeat what he was told. Bilbo was painfully aware that he hadn't broken a confidence in his adult life and this wasn't going to be the exception.

"It's... complicated." And with that non-answer, he glanced away. The first thing he saw, of course, was Thorin, whose burning eyes were staring a hole into him from across the campsite. Before he could even help himself, he rolled his own eyes at the dwarf and looked back to Gandalf, who looked unaccountably amused. Of course he would see the whole thing, Bilbo through sourly. Wretched too-observant wizards. Casting desperately about for a change of topic, he blurted "You told Thorin you were in Fornost! Why did you go there? Did you see the Rose Palace? And where are you going now?" Gandalf's peals of laughter filled the whole campsite, making even Vekkad look around curiously.

"Ah Bilbo, never change! You are a delight. And yes, I saw the ruins of the Rose Palace, but you must remember, Fornost has been abandoned for several centuries. The only ones currently inhabiting the Rose Palace are a truly enormous colony of bats, and while it does have a distinctive smell which can be detected for miles, I can assure you it is not the scent of roses. As to why I was there, and further east, I went because I had a suspicion. I am going now to Rivendell, to tell Elrond that I was right, and he was wrong. While I am often right, and truth be told I enjoy an 'I told you so' more than most, it's not often I regret being right quite so much as I do this time. But... well, enough of that. And clearly, your mission here is your own, so I shan't pry." Crystal grey eyes twinkled merrily above his pointy nose and bushy beard, making the wizard look like the world's oldest mischievous child. "But I will tell you this, and feel free to pass this warning along to Thorin and the others. I did not exaggerate - this is a very dangerous place to be, and the longer you stay, the more dangerous it shall become. Go softly, go quietly, but above all, go quickly." He shifted forward like he was about to rise, and Bilbo fought the urge to clutch at him like a child. Without any warning, Gandalf's hand was on the hobbit's shoulder. "And Bilbo..." the old wizard's face was glowing with practically paternal care, "I don't know what precisely has upset you so, but I do know this. You are a good person, and you deserve to be happy. There is nothing worth chasing so much as happiness. The world is a wide and varied place, and the only thing its inhabitants share is a desire for happiness. Joy is rare. Don't talk yourself out of it, whatever it might be. You've come this far away from home, and you have further yet to go; you must trust in your own strength and your own intuition. And for goodness' sake, if you see a chance for your own happiness, seize it, and let others say what they will. Do you understand me?" Bilbo felt his eyes welling up again, but nodded.

"Yes," he barely choked out. As usual, Gandalf had apparently seen right through him, but it was worth any amount of humiliation to see an expression of true caring right at that moment.

"Good." Gandalf did stand this time with the aid of his staff, and cast a final look of great affection down to the small hobbit sitting on a rock before him. "Now, I have tarried too long here. My horse and I have both rested a bit, and we must fly." Striding across camp towards the grey where it stood munching on a clump of grass, he called out, "Thorin, I can only assume from your location this far north that you intend to cross the low pass over the Redhorn. Be aware, there is an orc-gate new-made there to ambush unwary travelers. Cross it during the day, if you value your safety." Grumbles arose from the others, but Thorin simply scowled and nodded. "Now, come, Swiftmane, you must be Shadowfax for me this day. To Rivendell!" And with that, the wizard leaped on the horse and they bolted off southwards.

Gandalf had barely mounted his horse before Thorin was at Bilbo's side. "What did Tharkun want?" he asked with a glower. "Surely you didn't tell him..."

Bilbo interrupted. "He wanted to give me advice. He's a friend, Thorin. I've known him since I was a child. I didn't tell him anything about what we were doing, where we were going, or anything else. But thank you so much for suspecting I might." He knew he sounded bitter and waspish, but he was already desperately tired and the day had only just begun. "And before you ask, it's none of your business what he wanted to give me advice about, so just... just go away." Thorin glared for a moment, but then gave a huff of breath and looked down at his feet.

"I didn't mean..." Thorin began, but Balin immediately called his name; the dark-haired dwarf sighed and looked like he was about to continue, but shook his head and went over to help the old adviser pack something onto a pony. Bilbo sighed as well, gathering up his belongings and loading them onto his mount, including the bedroll that silently mocked him with its lack of use. Looking at his new 'sword' hanging on his belt, he wondered what sort of person he was becoming. Gandalf's advice about happiness sounded like a cruel joke at that moment; Bilbo thought he was about as far from happiness as it was possible for a hobbit to get.

The day passed slowly, but it passed, and luckily nobody was in the mood to talk. They moved as quickly and silently as they could, and that night they made a cold camp nestled at the base of yet another of the interminable outcrops of granite. Bilbo wanted to ask Balin about Thorin's behavior, but he was too tired, and fell asleep almost the moment he had unrolled his bedding. The next morning he was jostled awake by Nar, who shook him gently to wake him but held up a finger to his lips when he would ask a question. The sound of distant howling came on the morning breeze, but it faded away to the north. The dawn light was just breaking when they set off again, this time at a punishing pace that had the ponies panting after a few hours. Balin leaned in towards Thorin, and apparently some sort of disagreement was underway. The subject quickly became apparent when the dark-haired leader called for a brief halt with a face like a thundercloud, but all too soon they were pressing onwards. The rest of the day went much the same, along with the next, ending with a fireless camp and cram or some sort of dried strip of meat. The second-worst part of the change in their meals for Bilbo was feeling useless, since losing his role of cook. At least everyone found value in his efforts when he could cook. The worst, of course, was simple hunger.

Since they went on half-rations a few days ago, Bilbo's stomach had griped at him almost constantly. The dwarves were cranky about it as well, but they clearly didn't eat as much as hobbits. Bilbo watched his waistline shrink with each day of nothing but scraps of cram and meat. Each time they stopped, he looked around hoping against hope to find something edible growing nearby. As the mountains crept closer, the grass got coarser and more patchy, but there were occasional copses of stunted trees surrounded by bushes and undergrowth. The trees became more common as they passed out of the Ettenmoors and into the foothills proper, with the outthrust spurs of rock receding into the landscape as the trees appeared. Thorin whipped them on relentlessly, having clearly taken Gandalf's words to heart about the precariousness of their situation. Every delay was met with fury. Bilbo was successful in avoiding him, though he was able to have a few short chats with Ori about the history of the region. He noticed that Thorin was less likely to stare at him, but that didn't mean it didn't happen. By the fifth time he caught blue eyes watching him, he was beginning to feel unnerved. He wanted to speak to Balin, but Thorin kept the elderly dwarf within arms reach at all times. It seemed at times they must even go into the woods to use the toilet together. He despaired of ever getting a moment alone with the old adviser.

In the afternoon of the fourth day after fighting the trolls, things finally came to a head. Balin, Dwalin and Nar all joined together against Thorin, demanding a rest. They made very reasonable arguments: the ponies were half-dead and would never be able to carry them through the pass like this, everyone was starving and Vekkad might be able to find some game, there were woods that might have something edible growing... they were wasting their breath. It was perfectly clear that all Thorin heard was _delay_. Despite his increasingly angry protests, though, the rest of the company proceeded to unpack without another word no matter how their leader ranted and carried on. Bilbo watched the childish display, just thinking to himself how ridiculous it was that he would fall for someone who would act like that. He knew fauntlings with more restraint! Finally, after everything else had failed, Thorin stormed off into the woods, presumably to sulk. Vekkad took his bow and grinned, then vanished into the woods without so much as a rustle. Bilbo didn't like the Firebeard one bit, but he sent a fervent prayer to the Green Lady that the redheaded dwarf could come back with a deer, a brace of rabbits, anything at all. He found a few clumps of puffball mushrooms, which were edible but not exactly delicious. The rest of the little copse they were in was empty of anything edible, though. As he brought his finds back with him to the campsite, he saw Balin sitting off by himself. By himself. For the first time in over a week. The hobbit smiled.

Bilbo knew that Balin had at least some idea of what Thorin's thoughts were about him, and why he was acting so strangely. He thought it was time for a little chat.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which three conversations are had, and the second of them is one which should have happened several days before.

Bilbo wandered over immediately and plopped down next to Balin on a fallen log, shooting him a weary smile. "Good afternoon." From the set of the old dwarf's mouth behind his beard and the look in his eye, Bilbo thought 'good' was quite a stretch, but what else was one supposed to say?

"Oh, Master Baggins!" Balin glanced over, and visibly packed his own thoughts away. "How are you holding up, lad?" The hobbit knew that such a professional politician like the old dwarf must be deeply concerned or deeply tired to allow his thoughts to show so plainly on his face.

"Well enough, I suppose, though the lack of food is a bother." He took a deep breath. "Please, call me Bilbo. There's no need to stand on formality when we've traveled so far together."

"You honor me, Bilbo. Thank you." The old dwarf looked pleased. Bilbo felt a bit manipulative, but he really did consider Balin a friend of sorts. He wouldn't normally try to get information out of other people's friends, and had strong opinions of those in the Shire that did things like this, but (he reflected grimly) time makes fools of us all. What seems incomprehensible today seems the only way forward tomorrow.

"Balin," Bilbo began awkwardly, "I have a question. I'm sorry, I know it's awkward, but..." The old dwarf shot him a look of alarm before he'd barely begun. It would have been amusing if Bilbo hadn't been so knotted up inside. "Please, can you tell me why Thorin acts so strangely around me?" Balin's eyes closed and he hung his head, acting for all the world like someone who was just given news he had been dreading. Bilbo marveled to himself for at least the hundredth time that dwarves had such a pragmatic reputation but that they could be so overwhelmingly dramatic given half a chance. When no answer was forthcoming, he continued. "He stares at me, half the time he ignores me, the other half of the time he's crashingly rude. He acts like he can't stand me, but yet when he saw me upset the other day, he apparently assumed that someone else had hurt me and was going to start a fight! What is..." Balin held up his hand, and Bilbo sputtered to a stop.

"Lad," the old dwarf said with a sad expression, "ask me anything but that. For that, you need to talk to Thorin. It's not my tale to tell." Just the thought of doing so made Bilbo panic. He could feel himself starting to jitter, hands shaking and legs bouncing where he sat. Why didn't this confounded old dwarf realize that he was here precisely so he wouldn't _have_ to ask Thorin?

He blurted, "But Balin, what on earth have I _done_? I've helped everywhere I could, I've cooked, I've..." A heavy hand clapped on his shoulder.

"You've done nothing wrong. I mean it! You have been a fine companion to us all. He's not upset with you. He's... upset with himself." The old adviser looked away and knotted his other hand in his maroon traveling cloak, fisting the material into bunches. "And I'm not saying any more." He patted Bilbo's shoulder awkwardly, seamed face a picture of misery. After a minute of silence as Bilbo fought to breathe, Balin gave a small shrug. "Thorin is..."

"Thorin is what?" came a deep, suspicious voice from behind them. Balin's head sank into his shoulders for a moment like a turtle, but he gamely turned to grimace at the dwarven leader who had just emerged from the woods. Bilbo was once again wishing that he could just become invisible and creep away. "I step away for five minutes, and come back to my closest adviser gossiping about me?" Offended blue eyes turned to Bilbo, and then back quickly. Oddly enough, Thorin's face twitched when he saw the hobbit, and Bilbo couldn't help but notice and wonder why. A thousand potential reasons immediately raced through the hobbit's mind, each more unpleasant than the last. Thorin ranted on, "Am I to have no secrets left? Is it my destiny to be betrayed by..." Balin's furious growl interrupted what was shaping up to be another impressive tirade.

"That is _enough_," Balin said fiercely. "That's more than enough! Thorin, I am going over there." The old dwarf pointed to the trees on the other side of the campsite, where Dwalin and Nar were sharpening their axes and Ori was reading. "You, my boy, are going to sit where I am sitting, and you are going to answer this hobbit's questions. I have put up with all of this I can take." And with that, the old dwarf stomped off leaving Thorin and Bilbo both staring after him wearing identical expressions of gape-jawed amazement. Bilbo thought that surely the handsome dwarf would flee into the woods again, but he was surprised when Thorin eased himself down onto the log nearby, albeit with the expression of a man going to his own execution. If Bilbo hadn't felt like his own guts were being twisted around and around by a large fork, he'd have been amused with how they were acting like bashful tweens at a Harvest Dance. Not that Thorin would ever feel... oh Green Lady help him.

"So, Master Baggins," Thorin said in a low voice, refusing to meet Bilbo's eyes, "you had a question?"

"I did," he replied, his own voice sounding a bit reedy in his ears. "I simply asked Balin why you hate me so much." Thorin's expression was so shocked Bilbo wondered briefly if the dark-haired dwarf had come to some sudden injury. Thorin's mouth opened and closed a few times, but no sound came out. Fine, Bilbo thought. I suppose it's up to me to rip the entire bandage off myself. "I had hoped... I mean, I had thought... we might be at least friendly, if not, you know, actual friends. But..." his words ran out in the teeth of that astonished stare. Bilbo realized that he was twisting his hands around each other nervously like his aunt Magnolia, and wasn't that a fine image for a dwarf camp in the middle of nowhere! Thorin shook his head, and Bilbo hoped he might speak, if only to keep the hobbit from dying of social awkwardness.

Thorin cleared his throat. "But?" he prompted. Bilbo was suddenly seized with an almost irresistible urge to stab the dwarf with his elven blade and run off screaming into the woods. If this trip had taught him nothing else, it was that it was always a very bad idea indeed to think things couldn't get any more uncomfortable, because you were immediately shown otherwise.

"But?! Thorin! You stare at me day and night like I've killed your pet, you barely speak a civil word to me since I brought you that thrice-be-damned food for saving me, the only time you're nice to me is when I'm finding you treasure!" Bilbo was on surer footing now, and discomfort was finally giving way to indignation. "You dismiss me at every turn, you make it clear that you can barely even stand to look at me, and then when I've finally realized I can't take any more, you threaten to fight someone for me!" He realized suddenly that he'd been getting louder than he meant to, and flushed when he saw the dwarves on the other side of the camp get up wordlessly and move further away in the trees. Making an effort to modulate his tone, he said "I understand that I may not be... be the best of company. Certainly not to a prince. And for that I am truly sorry. But if... if we could just be civil... " With crystalline clarity, Bilbo realized he was about to cry. If he started crying, he might very well stab Thorin out of sheer pique. He sniffled in spite of himself, cursing his treacherous nose, and was thus caught completely off-guard when Thorin seized him firmly by the shoulders and kissed him. Hard. So later, thinking through it, it wasn't terribly surprising in retrospect that he slapped Thorin in the face without even thinking about it.

The handsome dwarf drew back immediately, face twisted into a mask of self-loathing that went through Bilbo like a strike of lightning. Oh, he thought dumbly. That... didn't feel like hatred. Bilbo felt as though all the air had just been pulled from his lungs and replaced with something much heavier and fizzier. With a choked "Mahal!" Thorin tried to fight his way to his feet, presumably to flee, but the hobbit knew instinctively that if Thorin was allowed to run away, they would never speak again. Bilbo caught his sleeve desperately and clung on like grim death.

"Thorin," he said breathlessly, resisting the increasingly frantic tugging on the arm clutched in his grasp, "Thorin! Stop it! Sit down!" He finally threw himself on the dwarf, holding him to the log with sheer body weight. "Sit _down_, I say!" When the stocky body under his stopped fighting and thrashing, he sat back and looked over cautiously. Thorin was sitting hunched over, with his hands against his face, hair disarrayed and covering what was left. The dwarf gave a great gasping sob, and it was at that precise moment Bilbo felt his soul shatter into a thousand razor-edged pieces. "Shh," he said, smoothing back the dark silver-streaked hair like he would with a Hobbiton fauntling, noting in passing that it was every bit as glossy and smooth to the touch as it had looked. "I'm sorry. But you need to talk with words, Thorin. There's been far too much acting without thinking already." Bilbo wasn't sure what he felt. He'd spent days worrying about the fact that he was... enamored with the dwarven prince, picking at it like a child with a scab. He had realized (well, to be honest, more like admitted) that it wasn't just physical lust, though the sight of Thorin's trim, muscular body in motion was quite capable of leaving him out of breath. He had spent those days worrying about what people in the Shire would think. He had spent days questioning himself. What had never occurred to him, even in his wildest flights of fancy, was any idea that Thorin might actually reciprocate his interest, even if it were unremarkable for two men to marry in dwarven society. What he was suddenly, overwhelmingly certain of, though, was that he couldn't bear to hear Thorin ever make that sound again, doubly so if he himself was the cause of it. For the second time since meeting Thorin, he heard a bit of Gandalf's advice ringing in his mind's ear: _if you see a chance for your own happiness, seize it, and let others say what they will_. Just as had happened weeks ago, Bilbo suddenly felt that he understood the wizard's words in context. Of course, he also remembered the wizard saying he was fierce as a lion, and right now he felt about as fierce as a small and shivering baby mouse.

"Leave me," Thorin ground out, his voice like gravel in a drum. He was still hiding behind his hands. "There's nothing to discuss."

"Shan't," Bilbo said, sounding childish even to his own ears. "For there very much is. We need to talk about this now more than ever, because I don't have the faintest idea what's going on. Am I to take it from your recent actions that the reason you have been acting so cold and distant is because you have, erm, feelings for me?" Without consciously doing so, he continued to smooth Thorin's hair back and out of the way. He was surprised when he suddenly felt his wrist gripped in a callused hand whose strength was carefully measured but far beyond anything he'd ever experienced. His skin shivered pleasantly at just the touch.

"I don't understand you," Thorin said in a low voice. "You strike me for kissing you, yet you touch my hair as though it were nothing. What am I to think?" His face was still frozen in a scowl, but his blue eyes were pools of anguish.

Bilbo flushed beet red. "Oh dear. In the Shire, kissing is considered quite a bit more intimate than touching someone's... I see. I beg your pardon." He took his hand back when Thorin released it and folded his hands in his lap, the better to (hopefully) keep them from causing any more trouble. "But you haven't answered my question." Thorin glared, then slumped again as he heaved a great sigh.

"If you are determined to make me suffer, so be it." The dwarven leader was as tense as if he was about to be stabbed. "You are my One, my _azyungel_. I knew as soon as I saw you. You are doubtless disgusted. You probably don't even believe me, since hobbits have no Ones as we do. Go ahead and mock me; everyone else has already." Thorin spoke each sentence as though it were a stick that he were using to flog himself. His One... Bilbo vaguely remembered Balin saying days ago _we look at them and just know_. Thorin was clearly trying to look strong by schooling his face into a mask of indifference, but his eyes gave the truth away. Giving the lie to the haughty expression, they glittered with barely-restrained tears.

"I would never mock you for a declaration like that, Thorin." Bilbo wondered if it were physically possible for his heart to erupt through his chest, because it felt like he was getting dangerously close to such a fate. Thorin looked over at him from under lowered lashes with the expression of an animal afraid to be beaten, and his poor abused heart gave yet another lurch. "To be desired by someone is a great compliment. Only a fool or a cad would mock someone for such a thing, and I assure you I am neither." Bilbo swallowed and looked down. "I... am not familiar with the practice of two men having, uh, feelings for one another. Just the idea of it is a subject of tremendous scandal in the Shire. And if nothing else, I have tried my whole life to be a respectable hobbit of impeccable reputation." Slowly he reached out with a trembling hand, and took Thorin's thick fingers in his own. Another expression of shock was his reward from the dark-haired dwarf beside him, who appeared to be holding his breath. "But a wise man once told me that happiness was worth chasing, and I think respectability is... perhaps overrated." Thorin looked over with a wild expression full of hope.

"May I... court you, Bilbo Baggins?" An image of Thorin appearing with a flower crown at the Harvest festival and asking him to dance almost made Bilbo ruin the moment completely with giggles; not the time, he thought to himself frantically. He'd learned his lesson about cultural assumptions, though.

"What exactly does that entail? I mean, for dwarves?" Bilbo smiled, though a bit ironically. "I've learned quite often on this trip that assuming a term means the same to someone else that it does to me isn't always the safest thing to do." Thorin's surprised burst of laughter was like music to the hobbit's ears. It was the closest thing he had seen to a smile from the dour dwarf in days.

"I would announce my intention in front of the others to court you. I would give you a bead for your hair, ideally one I had made, or an heirloom of my house. I would give you gifts to show you my intentions for our union. If you found me worthy, you would give me a gift or gifts in return to show your intentions as well." Thorin's face soured again quickly. "My father is... well, you know. I am not welcome in Erebor, or I would take you back there at once, _kidhuzural_, cover you in the gold and jewels you deserve." He looked up and took both of Bilbo's hands in his own larger ones. "But I promise you this... The day will come when I will rule, and I want you there beside me."

Bilbo felt faint. "That's... good heavens, Thorin. I don't think..." His mind was whirling; what on earth? Rule? Him? A mountain full of dwarves? Covered in gold and gems? But he could also see Thorin's face closing up again at his delay; if they were going to be anything to each other, they were definitely going to have to work on that particular trait. "It's too soon. We don't even know each other. I mean, properly." He waved his free hand around trying to express how overwhelmed he felt. "Let's... I'm not saying no to courting, I'm saying not yet. I'd like to actually talk with you, get to know you, and have you get to know me before we commit to, you know, all the covering with gold and gems and ruling business." Thorin's incredulous snort made Bilbo giggle in spite of himself. "Let alone standing up in front of everyone and making some sort of formal declaration! Just because I think you're gorgeous doesn't..." oh Green Lady guard him, did he really say that? He coughed and felt the flush race across his face again. "... ahem, doesn't mean we are compatible."

"Gorgeous?" Thorin's voice was deep and teasing and Bilbo felt it vibrate from the soles of his feet to the roots of his hair. It was deeply, personally unfair that someone could make him feel like that with just a single word! To make matters even worse, Thorin raised their linked hands and then pressed his lips to the back of Bilbo's hand so slowly that the hobbit could feel every single beard and mustache hair along with soft, dry lips and oh sweet Yavanna preserve him... and of course, at that precise moment, Vekkad returned with a dead deer.

The slight Firebeard came into camp and threw down the carcass of the field-dressed deer, and called out "He was quick, but not quick enough! Master Baggins, meat for the pot!" With that, he looked around and saw Thorin sitting and holding Bilbo's hand on one side of the camp, the others sitting back in the woods on the other. His eyes narrowed. "What in the name of Mahal..." he started, but Thorin's face assumed an expression that showed Bilbo that he had only thought that the leader had been glaring at him previously. If this was what a glare really was, the hobbit thought to himself, he'd have died by now. He had never seen an expression like that cross the handsome dwarf's face, and would be perfectly content not to see it again. Balin came out of the woods moving at a good pace, and others began to filter back into the campsite. Bilbo extracted his hand with an apologetic glance at Thorin and went to begin the process of turning the deer into a meal and quick-curing the rest of the meat. Balin and Ori seemed to be dancing attendance on Bilbo; as the night went on and the meals were served, one of them was always nearby making small talk, helping set out or clean up, and coincidentally hovering between the hobbit and the scowling Firebeard. The only thing that marked the night as unusual was that when Thorin took his plate, instead of his usual rude grab and grumbled thanks, his fingers brushed along Bilbo's and he smiled. Bilbo was so distracted by this little show that he could have stepped in the fire and not noticed; how, he wondered, was he going to survive this? Ori, who saw the whole thing, grinned from ear to ear. Bilbo realized that Thorin's earlier statement that everyone had been making fun of him might not have been dramatic exaggeration. Certainly the group had been willing to make themselves conveniently scarce during the discussion with Thorin earlier.

When Bilbo sat to eat, Ori was next to him for the first time in days. "So you knew," he said bluntly. The young scribe giggled and his cheeks pinked.

"Oh by the Stone yes, everyone did. Thorin's as subtle as a warg with a sore toe. We just wondered if he would ever bother to tell you. Good for you for forcing the issue." Ori blinked over at him owlishly. "It's all terribly romantic, both of you swooning around, though there hasn't been anywhere near the usual amount of dying and pining that you get in the epics." The sheer effrontery of this phlegmatic description for something that had caused him weeks of mental anguish and misery left Bilbo speechless. He huffed a bit, but his heart wasn't in it. He was still too happy, and slammed his mental door firmly shut on any thoughts about what the general opinion of Hobbiton and Bywater would be of this state of affairs with Thorin. "Has he offered you a multiple of your weight in gold and gems yet? If so, how many times your weight so far?"

"Ori!" Bilbo swatted at the impertinent younger dwarf, who was now laughing outright. "You wretches have probably bet on the amounts." Ori's smirk and shifty eyes gave him away. "Green Lady, you have! Some friend you turn out to be. For your information, we're not even formally... what is it? 'Courting' yet." He glanced across the camp looking for Thorin, but instead saw a familiar red-bearded scowl. "So... I have to ask. What is Vekkad's issue with all this? Did he want Thorin for himself?" Ori's lips pursed and his brows drew down.

"No." He said curtly, then sighed. "It's... complicated. I don't know where to start that would make sense." Ori leaned forward and got a twig from the ground and began fiddling with it. "The Firebeards have a, well, they have a real dislike of the other races. Goes back to the Age of Wrath. They were the clan that made the Nauglamir, and they never forgave the elves for their treachery. Some of them are more open-minded than others, but the house of Tukkad is extremely conservative, even among the traditionalists. Personally, Vekkad's also a bit younger than Thorin, and sees him as some sort of great hero of the dwarven people. Always looked up to him, 'the great Thorin Oakenshield', you know how it is when someone famous is a few years older than you. His main issue with you is that you're not a dwarf. Of course, he ran around for days telling everyone you had deceived Thorin by claiming to have the Deep Sight, only dwarves could have it, you were lying, and so forth. Of course you proved him wrong at the troll cave quite handily. That put some firedamp in his coal mine for sure! Now he says you can't possibly be Thorin's One, but I trust Thorin to know his own mind better than some Firebeard hunter. If he thinks you can ring the bell, I believe him." He started breaking tiny fragments off the twig, chipping away at it. "Congratulations on finding your One. I always dreamed that one day I could find mine." Bilbo surreptitiously got another piece of roasted venison off the spit, offering part of it to Ori.

"Ori," he said softly, "you will. You're a good dwarf and anyone would be lucky to have you." All he got in return was a watery smile. Ori made an effort to redirect the conversation away from the moment of awkwardness.

"So, is Thorin planning on making an announcement soon?" he asked innocently, chewing a bit of the roast meat.

"I'm not telling you anything else you can use to bet on." The belly laugh he got in return proved the truth of Bilbo's accusation. "One more question, though, if you can tell me... What was all that at the troll cave about? Of course I don't speak Khuzdul, but Vekkad used his boon to..." Ori grimaced and got a furious look on his face.

"That was... I probably shouldn't tell you, but if you're Thorin's One, you're practically a dwarf. We have different stories that we sing, hundreds of them, no one scribe knows all of them. They are very formal in how they are presented, and each one has lessons associated with it, the wisdom of our ancestors, that tells us how to deal with situations and offers guidance in life. The story he requested, Vuti and the Goat, is a story about a Stiffbeard dwarf named Vuti who went mad, and decided that his One was a goat of the mountain." Bilbo felt his anger rising, and understood now why Thorin and Balin had been so irritated. "He chased the goat, singing it love songs, and eventually it ran where he could not follow, and he lost his footing and fell off the mountain to his death. It is a favorite of the Firebeards, for obvious reasons. He lost a lot of approval by demanding that story, rubbing it in Thorin's face like that." Bilbo took a deep breath, and made every effort not to get offended. After all, it was past now.

"We have a similar story in the Shire about a farmer's wife who mistakes a hatrack for her husband," Bilbo said, and soon they were telling jokes and silly stories. Good company, a full belly and an end to worrying about Thorin... Bilbo felt better than he had since leaving home. Perhaps this adventuring business wasn't so bad.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a little more is learned of Thorin, the dwarves find out something they didn't want to know, something useful goes missing, and Bilbo finally realizes why Stonekeepers are so respected.

Over the next few days the party passed through the foothills of the Misty Mountains, and Bilbo finally got to spend some time getting to know Thorin. For someone who had seemed so distant and surly since beginning this journey, he was finding the dwarf surprisingly complex. Sometimes, Thorin reminded him of a hedgehog; all prickly on the outside, but cute and a bit silly underneath. Other times, he was more like a porcupine, all quills and grumble. This didn't disturb Bilbo as much as it might have done, however, as he was still deeply ambivalent about his own feelings. There were times when Thorin would give him a sidelong look and a slanted smile that would take his breath away, or would offer a perfectly innocent touch (innocent from anyone who wasn't looking at the hobbit like a drowning man looks at a raft, anyway), and at such times he couldn't imagine not wanting the prickly dwarven leader. There were other times, particularly the middle of the night, when he cursed himself as a loathsome and perverted creature unfit to associate with polite company. In those moods, he was certain that even though dwarves were welcome to do whatever they wanted, hobbits didn't do such things, especially not respectable ones, and Bilbo shed many a hot, bitter tear over the death of the respectability he had fought so hard for so long to maintain. Thorin asked again for permission to begin a formal courtship, but Bilbo was even more averse to the idea now. Until he had formally decided to forego all respectability forever, there was no way he would allow such a public declaration of anything... even if said 'public' would only be a group of dwarves who all clearly knew already.

Bilbo was particularly fascinated when he managed to get the story of Thorin's battle name 'Oakenshield' out of him (with some help from Balin, who insisted that Thorin was far too modest for his own good). The idea of a younger Thorin, barely out of childhood, battling an uncountable army of orcs as part of an army of the seven clans of dwarves was like something out of a story book. The mental image of Thorin shrugging off his broken shield in the middle of battle and seizing an oaken log for defense was a powerful one. Balin's descriptions fleshed out Thorin's rather no-nonsense telling of events as well. The hobbit felt he could almost smell the stench of the battlefield, the smoke and entrails, hear the screams of the wounded and dying... it was overwhelming to contemplate. In hobbit years, Thorin would have still been a tween, and yet he had seen his grandfather fall to an orcish axe, his father half-blinded, and had killed Azog himself on the steps of their ancestral mansions; Bilbo could not imagine what that would do to a child. He ached to give Thorin a hug for pure comfort though the events were a hundred years and more past. From the words of the two dwarves, it sounded as though Erebor hadn't fully recovered, either. Not only was Thrain mad, but the mountain had lost its strongest warriors and too much of its labor. Though they never explicitly said so, Thorin and Balin made it clear that the Erebor they had left was still just a shadow of what it had been before the Battle of Azanulbizar. With stories like this, Bilbo thought, no wonder Vekkad worships him as a hero; he truly is a hero!

Vekkad continued to be a problem, of course. The slight Firebeard had a real knack for knowing when to glare or make a comment just this side of a fighting offense, and he utilized this gift relentlessly on Bilbo. While the prickly hunter wasn't so keen to display such behaviors to Thorin, he didn't worry if the others saw him. This led to a rather comical dance of Balin and Ori, and occasionally Nar, making every effort to stay between the volatile redhead and the increasingly disturbed and irritated hobbit. He rather wished they wouldn't bother, honestly. If he had to settle things with Vekkad somehow, all the interference in the world wasn't going to put it off forever; usually, delaying having it out with someone who was determined to be difficult just made things worse. Still, unless Bilbo wanted to be the one to cause a scene, he was stuck waiting for the opportunity to arise. There was a lot of eye-rolling and tongue-biting in the meanwhile. All the interpersonal tension had to be put on hold, though, when they finally reached the base of the low pass across the Redhorn (or, as the dwarves called it, Barazinbar).

They stopped that evening as night came on, and instructions were given that it was to be a cold camp with no fire or other source of warmth since the risk of being spotted was too great. The ponies were secured some distance from camp, just in case they made noise in the night. After they had set up, Thorin called a meeting. "My friends," he said, "as you know, the wizard warned us on the moors of this pass. It seems the orcs have opened a new hole onto the path the better to snatch us up, so be on watch. We are some distance from where the orc-gate will most likely be, but we are well within range of warg riders if they venture out. Tomorrow, when we cross, we will leave at the dawn; if the sun is strong, we should be safe enough, for even the strongest of the mountain filth have no taste for bright light." This was news to Bilbo, who had no experience of any type of orcs, mountain or otherwise, but the nods and chuckles from the others gave every indication that this was hardly unknown to the dwarves. Thorin went on, "I also wanted to thank each and every one of you for coming with me. I know that things in Erebor were far from good. Many of you had no reason to leave with me, to come on what many saw as a fool's errand. But you did, and for that I owe each of you a debt I can never repay. And I say to you now, not if, but when, we have retrieved the Dragon Crown and returned victorious to Erebor, you shall each be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams." The dwarves cheered, though not as loudly as they might given their location, and Vekkad was looking at Thorin like an elf might look at a star come down to earth.

With that, Thorin looked over at Bilbo, and the look on his face took Bilbo's breath away. "And to our hobbit scholar, Master Baggins, I am especially thankful." Bilbo tried to ignore the whispers and shifting of the others, but he knew full well that they were making preparations to pay off bets if Thorin made some announcement that they were courting. None of that, he thought primly. You can all just keep your coins in your pouches, thank you very much. "He had no reason to come along on this journey; he didn't know me from the Steward of Gondor. In fact, he thought I was just another of the relic hunters that had plagued him for years! But from pure kindness, he agreed to help me... help us... with this important quest. And to him we all owe a great deal of thanks. His Deep Sight has already brought us luck," Thorin touched the hilt of his elven blade to make the point clear, "and it will aid us tremendously in the days to come. I will try to find a reward suitable for such an invaluable contribution to our cause." This last was said with a look towards the blushing hobbit that practically sucked the air from Bilbo's lungs. Good heavens, he thought dizzily. The hobbit was glad of the poor lighting to hide his beet-red face. There was another cheer, with one notable abstention. Vekkad looked ready to spit flame like a dragon, but just as his lips parted to deliver some blistering comment Nar 'accidentally' bumped him while reaching across him, practically throwing the small dwarf from his perch on a stump. The mood of the evening dissolved after that into snickering and rude comments, and the tension seemed to have abated.

The moon was new, so there was no light to compete with the stars. Bilbo sat in the darkness on a rounded boulder near his bedroll, smoking a half-pipe of leaf as he prepared for sleep. He marveled as he always did how lack of light made his other senses stronger. Even over the smell of burning pipeleaf he could smell the rich, leafmold smell of the humus under the trees; the tang of the pine that was nearby; the wet-rock smell of the trickle of water nearby that they had used to fill their waterskins. As the slight breeze shifted around, he could also smell unwashed dwarf. Honestly, he thought, if we were trying to sneak past an orc hideyhole that might or might not be full of wargs, you would think they would make more of an effort to not stink so badly! Then again, thinking back to the troll's cave, who knew what kind of horrific stench the orcs lived in, so it would probably be fine. At least that's what he kept telling himself. With one last deep puff, he finished his pipe and emptied the dottle from it but didn't lay down yet on his bedroll. His hearing was picking out the heavy breathing of the others, Nar and Dwalin snoring in deep rumbles. While it normally didn't bother him, Bilbo wished they wouldn't snore so loudly; it would mask the sound of anything creeping up on them. Not, of course, that he was feeling concerned. Surely, the orcs were miles away, even if there were orcs at all. Gandalf's information might have been old and outdated; in fact, probably the last group of travelers to come through here had killed off all of them, and they would get to the pass and find a gaping gateway with nothing left alive inside the orc stronghold and they could pass right on by and go down into the hills on the other side. Yes, that sounded just about... a soft sound alerted him to something moving, and Bilbo hunched down on the rock he was perched on. He knew he was practically invisible where he sat, but he tensed anyway and prepared to sound the alarm if necessary.

Another stealthy movement brought a dim shape up next to his bedroll, and he heard a grunt as something was stuck into it. That was enough for him. "Something's here!" he called out, and quick as a breath Dwalin had jumped up from where he lay and seized the dim form, who cursed and struggled. Thorin and Balin both rushed over and a quick and brutal scrum resulted. When a small flame was finally risked, it showed a furious and disheveled Vekkad being pinned to the ground by the neck by the axe handle of the larger, more muscular Dwalin and a dagger thrust into the dirt next to Bilbo's bedroll. Thorin's face was thunderous as he yanked the dagger out, but his voice was eerily calm when he spoke. "So, Vekkad. How long has it been since you lost your wits completely?" Bilbo felt humiliated to be the cause of dissent in the party, and sank back into the shadows as best he could. Ori came over next to him and put a hand on his shoulder, which somehow made him feel even worse. Nar shouldered up beside the hobbit and shook his head at the sight of the dwarf on the ground.

The Firebeard struggled again briefly against the pinning axe, but gave up as Dwalin growled down into his face. "My wits are whole, Thorin. It's you who have lost your mind, as you'd see if you weren't so enamored of the halfling." Thorin's expression changed, becoming colder and stony; Bilbo thought he looked more terrifying than when he had been visibly angry. By now he was having his own set of worries. Was it really safe to pursue any type of closer relationship with someone with that sort of temper? The hobbit finally spoke up.

"It's fine, Thorin. He wasn't trying to kill me, just frighten me. I know he doesn't like me. I don't mind, really, just... let's just go to sleep. Dwalin, let him up, please." Ori looked over at him, shock on the young dwarf's face. Thorin looked like Bilbo had hit him with Dwalin's axe.

"Just trying to... Wait, you mean he's done this before?" Now the glare was directed at Bilbo. Wonderful, he thought. Out of the frying pan into the fire. "And you didn't tell me?"

At the same time Thorin was speaking, Vekkad spat "I don't need your help, miserable creature. I told you, he's not for you!" Dwalin seemed to have had enough at that point, drawing back and giving the slight-built dwarf below him a punch that made even Ori wince before returning his hand to the axehaft. Thorin turned back to the redhead and walked over. Looking down at the slight hunter, he spoke softly but clearly.

"Vekkad son of Tukkad, you have done everything in your power to drive Master Baggins away, it would seem." He sighed, face resuming its stony stillness from earlier. "I had thought you would realize just how invaluable his help would be. After all, the Firebeards are strongest in the Deep Sight and its uses. But it seems you have chosen the difficult path." As fast as a serpent striking, Thorin had the other dwarf by his red beard, ignoring the giant welt rising on the side of Vekkad's face from Dwalin's fist. From the expressions of the other dwarves, Bilbo assumed that seizing another dwarf by the beard was a pretty significant insult. Thorin placed a dagger against the side of the glaring hunter's neck. "So hear me now. Bilbo Baggins is of more use to this expedition than you are, heir of House Tukkad or not. You will help him as he needs, when he needs. You will keep your poisonous thoughts to yourself. You will make no further trouble. Or else I will shave your beard and cast you out myself. And know this, Vekkad... If you harm him, if one drop of his blood is shed by you or one hair of his head, or his feet for that matter, falls to the ground, I will leave your body in a nameless hole. Are my words clear to you?" Vekkad glared daggers, but he clearly understood that Thorin was serious. Not for the first time, Bilbo thought he might very well die of embarrassment.

Vekkad's voice was thick with rage when he answered. "I weep to see my future king so taken with something that isn't a dwarf." Thorin sighed and pressed down with the dagger, but as the blade began to cut into the skin, the Firebeard continued "But you speak clearly. I understand and I will obey until such time as you see reason." Thorin held the dagger for a moment more, but pulled it away and Dwalin jerked his axe back. The Firebeard rolled over and stood, hand on his neck where a trickle of blood showed. He then made a show of dusting himself off and glaring at everyone. With a particularly malevolent look at Bilbo, he stalked back to his bedroll.

"Back to bed, now that we've made enough noise and light for every Orc south of Gundabad to know we're here," Nar grumbled, but clapped Bilbo on the back (almost knocking him over) as he passed. Balin made a disgusted face and shook his head in turn, but wandered over to where Thorin was standing, glaring at the spot on the ground where the other dwarf had lain. Putting his hand on the dwarven prince's shoulder, he led him away, speaking quietly into his ear. Ori looked over at Bilbo with a shocked expression.

"Had he truly been threatening you all along, Bilbo?" The hobbit sighed and nodded, looking down at his feet (which desperately needed grooming, he thought to distract himself). "Why didn't you tell someone? At least me?"

"I didn't want to be a bother," Bilbo said softly. "I hate when people argue because of me, and the last thing I want to is cause trouble inside the group." He took out his brush from his pack and started brushing the thick hair on top of his feet. "It wasn't much, just some rude words."

"Rude words? Are you serious? He just stuck a dagger where he thought you were sleeping! Bilbo, you need to watch out for him," Ori muttered. "Don't be alone with him. I never imagined he would oppose Thorin like that, but Firebeards are... well, let's just say they aren't the most forgiving of the seven kindreds." Bilbo sighed, but didn't respond. After a few minutes of sitting nearby, Ori patted the hobbit's arm and walked back to his own bedroll. Bilbo knew sleep was going to be a long time coming. It was late indeed before he could drift off.

The dawn came cloudy and overcast. The wind tasted like rain, Bilbo thought. Luckily, since it was approaching midsummer it wasn't cold, but rain in the mountains was no fun for anyone. There was grumbling from Thorin and Dwalin in particular since the sun wasn't bright enough to deter sorties if the orcs detected them. The general consensus was that after all the events of the previous night, though, they would be fools to wait for another day. The light and noise might have gone unnoticed, but it would be dangerous in the extreme to count on such luck. Vekkad was still grumbling and glaring at everyone, but the rest made it obvious that they thought he was a fool by the looks they gave him. Every time he passed near Thorin, he received a look that Bilbo was surprised didn't scorch his beard. Unfortunately, Bilbo hadn't slept well, the little he slept at all, so he was already exhausted before beginning what was promising to be a long and tiring day. As they packed, a cursing Dwalin alerted them to what was possibly the worst blow they had suffered yet.

The ponies were gone.

At some point in the night, something had chewed through the ropes securing them to a tall pine tree. The dwarves gave a quick search, but no trace of them could be found; even Vekkad couldn't pick up hoofprints in the stony ground. After a brief but heated discussion, they decided there was no time to mount a longer search. They all shared out the weight of the packs (and thank goodness they had taken all the food off the ponies, Bilbo thought!) and continued on foot. The topic for the morning was what could have done such a thing, and (even more disturbing) how had nobody heard anything, including those on watch? No answers were found, but everyone's nerves were fraught and Bilbo was half-convinced he could feel eyes watching him.

As they began the climb up the narrow path, a steady wind was blowing from behind them. The clouds that had promised rain were breaking up, but bands of light and shadow were passing over the mountain pass which would have been pretty under other circumstances but which was currently amplifying Bilbo's already painful headache. Nar stumped along beside him, pointing out interesting rock formations and telling Bilbo the names of all the minerals they were walking past. Periodically he'd stop and ask Bilbo how something or other felt to his stone sense, which was just as confusing now as it had been back in the troll cave. He tried gamely to answer the first few times, but finally he had to beg off and confess that with the headache he had, the only sensation he could perceive was his brain trying to burst out of his skull. The heavy pack straps bit into his shoulders, though none of the others seemed to be having problems though they were carrying much more than Bilbo. As the group climbed higher, Bilbo was forced to wonder that if this was the low pass, how high must the high pass be? Shaking his head and trying in vain to pop his ears, he thought yet again about how strange dwarves were. His eyes were drawn once again to where Thorin was leading the group, prowling along the path like a leopard even with his heavy pack, a grace in his movements that the others just didn't seem to have. The jewels on the hilt of the elven blade strapped to his side was glittering in the sunlight, and his dark hair and braids were moving in the gentle breeze. Sapphire blue eyes looked back and caught his, and Bilbo's breath caught at the small smile that flitted across Thorin's face. After a second that felt like forever, the leader's gaze turned back to the path and the hobbit could breathe again. Bilbo face turned beet red as Nar's chuckles indicated he had seen both sides of the interaction. He bit his tongue to keep from saying the rude comments he was thinking, reminding himself that he was glad the massive dwarf was nearby. Walking on sharp stones was not the best environment for bare hobbit feet, and Bilbo's balance had never before been challenged like climbing a pass in the mountains full of jagged rocks. Several times Nar's quick catches had stopped Bilbo from sliding or worse.

Vekkad had been scouting ahead, moving quickly and quietly as if he were on level ground. By midday, they had topped the pass and were moving down when the redheaded Firebeard appeared around a curve with a grim look. He went to Thorin immediately, speaking in a low voice, but even from the back of the line Bilbo could tell that there was some sort of obstruction ahead. As he hurried forward along with Nar, he stepped on yet another loose stone that made his ankle roll and he fell against the burly dwarf. Nar grinned at him but Bilbo was more than ready to be out of these wretched mountains, thank you very much. A delay was certainly not at the top of his list of desired things. As if that wasn't enough, now his ankle hurt. Blast and confusticate these mountains, and dwarves, and even the lack of ponies in general! Grumbling, he walked towards the rest.

When they moved forward, it seemed that apparently Vekkad had spotted the orc-gate Gandalf had mentioned, and it was a much larger and more comprehensive barrier than they had been told. It was down quite a bit, where the pass had broadened from a narrow ledge of rock to a sort of miniature valley between two rock faces, but the gate opened in the middle of that area and there wasn't much chance of sneaking past the sentries. Nar was immediately dragged into the discussion and quizzed on the possibility of someone climbing over the gate on the mountain and starting a rockslide. Bilbo, having nothing to add to the conversation, sat back a few yards against the rock slope, and Ori finally came and sat beside him. They watched bemusedly as Balin, Thorin, Nar and Vekkad came up with increasingly more elaborate scenarios to argue over, involving shaping rockfalls, direction of boulders, something called a 'scree slope' and things that sounded to Bilbo like they would require an entire army of engineers, not six dwarves and one confused hobbit. Dwalin stood close by, watching them with a disgusted look on his face.

"Ori," Bilbo asked quietly, "why did they immediately assume Nar would know how to start a rockfall? Is he known for that sort of thing?"

The young scribe looked at him blankly. "Well, of course he would, he's Nar!" Seeing Bilbo's mystified incomprehension, Ori smiled. "Has nobody told you about Nar?" Bilbo shook his head. "Well... funny that, but no wonder you didn't know then. Have you heard of Stonekeepers?"

Bilbo cast his mind back to his conversation with Balin, what seemed like ages ago now. "Yes... they are dwarves with really strong stone sense, right? And to be one is very respected? Wait, are you saying Nar is a Stonekeeper?" Ori pursed his lips and shushed him, since his voice had strengthened in his excitement. The last thing they needed was to remind the arguing group in front of them that there were others present who could be sucked into the discussion.

"Yes and no. Nar could have been, no question; his stone sense is said to be the strongest of his whole generation. But, well, he comes from a poor family, and not even a Longbeard family at that, and there's always politics involved in things like this. There was some sort of resistance to him being a 'keeper at first. By the time they finally offered to let him do it, he was already making a name for himself as a mason and he told the Guildmaster to go pound sand." Ori was clearly trying to keep a straight face, but failing. His grin was peeking out around the edges. "I don't think anyone had ever turned down Master Fror before, it caused a huge row. But now he's treated as a 'keeper by practically everyone even though he never was formally announced as one. It's a tremendous scandal in the higher halls, you can be sure. When he left to follow Thorin, well, that was just extra ore in the mine. Nar looks like any other dwarf, but wherever he goes, he creates a stir, and people listen to what he says. It's a strong recommendation for you that he likes you." Bilbo was flattered, a bit anyway, but he was also amazed.

"So... how many of the rest of you are secretly political leaders? First the dwarf at my door turns out to be a crown prince, now the mason with us turns out to be a Stonekeeper! What next? Are you the Master Scribe of Erebor? Is Dwalin the General of the Army?" He was laughing, but he was only half joking. Ori chuckled and shook his head. The sounds of squabbling were getting louder from the group in front, and waving arms were vehemently pointing out various features of the landscape.

"No, the rest of us are fairly normal. Balin is Thorin's old teacher and top adviser, has been for over a century. Dwalin is his brother and Thorin's weapons master and teacher, so of course he has to come keep his student and brother safe. I'm along to write up the story, and Vekkad is along to... well, ostensibly he's along to represent the Firebeards, since his father is Lord Tukkad, but honestly he's along because he couldn't stand the idea of Thorin going off for an adventure and not coming." Ori looked down. "He's a good hunter and tracker. It's just a shame that he has such strong ideas about other races."

"He's very good," Bilbo said. "and the food he brought has helped us immensely. I hate being the cause of conflict, like I said last night. I just wish..." he trailed off. "Ori, are you sure he isn't in love with Thorin? I mean, he certainly acts like it." Ori shook his head quickly, then thought for a moment, then shook it again.

"No," he said brusquely, "that's... I suppose it isn't impossible exactly, but that's not how dwarves do things. And I think we've just gotten a good look at some people's opinions of undwarvishness, haven't we?" They both snickered. "He's not Thorin's One any more than I am. His behavior is complicated, and I'm sorry you're caught in the midst of it. I think there's some hero worship there, along with a desire for Erebor to recover from," he looked away uncomfortably, "its many problems. Unfortunately, those positive wishes are tangled up in small-mindedness and hatred of anything different or unfamiliar." Ori stared at the argument, which was getting more heated and seemed likely to come to blows. "In case you haven't noticed, Bilbo, we dwarves are stubborn and proud. Individuals more or less, but as a group, we can be amazingly arrogant and convinced that we know best. When someone disagrees, well..." Thorin was shaking his fist in Vekkad's face and growling, who was hissing words back at him, and Balin was trying to keep the two apart. Sighing, Ori stood up. "Many of us would also rather argue than eat."

At that point, Dwalin apparently reached his limit. He stepped forward to the group and said in a carrying voice "Right, that's enough. Shut it, all of you. Yes, Thorin, that means you too, your High and Mightiness. You're acting like children." Vekkad swelled up and Thorin's lips parted, but Dwalin went on, "Shut it, I said. Nar!" The thickset mason glanced over. "Any way to drop a ton or two of rock on our friends down there? Yes or no?"

"Hard to say from here." Nar said with an exasperated look. "As I keep telling them." Dwalin nodded.

"Well," the old warrior went on, "since there's no way to tell from here, why don't we all shut our mouths and keep moving? As we get closer, maybe we'll see. And maybe we won't be stuck out on the side of a mountain arguing until the sun sets, eh?" The reminder of sundown was enough. Everyone immediately formed up and started moving again. As they descended, Bilbo's headache faded little by little. The closer they got to the gate, Nar began touching the stone of the mountainside and humming to himself. By now the clouds had long gone, and the stone was starting to warm up in the midafternoon sun. On the switchback above the final descent into the ravine, the stonemason stopped and put his forehead against the stone. There was a slope off to the side of the path, steep but theoretically walkable, but Bilbo hated the look of it. There was no way they could easily cross it, even assuming there was somewhere they could descend on the other side; it seemed to consist entirely of loose sharp-edged stones. They looked unbalanced somehow. Nar motioned him forward.

"What do you feel here, Master Baggins?" The dour dwarf asked, eyes boring into Bilbo. He reached out and touched the spot Nar had indicated, but just got a stronger impression of precarious balance. And something else, like an empty spot inside the mountain. He felt something else, but try as he might, he couldn't tease out the feeling through all the scattered stone.

"It feels... unsettled? Easy to tip over? And there's a hollow spot like a cave somewhere behind that slope, I think." Looking over at Nar, the long black beard almost hid the mason's smile.

"Indeed it does. And that is indeed a cave, but not a big one I don't think. Somewhere back behind the scree, yes. Did you feel where would get these rocks to move again?" Bilbo shook his head, not knowing that such a thing was even possible. "Well, no matter. Your sense is strong enough to be a miner, and that's quite enough to be getting on with, especially with you not even a dwarf." He turned to the prince with a wide, somewhat malicious grin. "Yes, Thorin, I can get these rocks to move for us. Surprised the rains haven't brought them down already. Idiots built right under a landslide waiting to happen. Shall I go now?" The leader nodded and stepped over to Bilbo. Nar gave a sardonic salute and strolled out onto the slope as easily as if he were walking on a flat floor, and Bilbo felt amazed.

"No need to be shocked, Bilbo," Thorin said in a low voice. "He can see and feel just where to step. We need to stay back because when he brings that down it could get messy." Bilbo tried his best not to be distracted by Thorin being so near, but he kept stealing glances at the profile of the handsome leader beside him. He almost missed Nar's wave. What happened next wasn't easily missed, though. Nar put his boot against a stone sticking up, braced himself, and pushed. At first nothing moved, then a few pieces of stone slid down. As those scraps of stone started moving, more slid, and the more pieces moved and fell, the more got caught up in motion. Shouts of alarm came from below. Nar moved over a bit more and levered another rock, and by now the whole mass seemed to be shifting and moving. Bilbo realized this was how rockfalls and landslides started. Pieces were balanced like jackstraws, and you could take a piece out if it wasn't holding something else up, but some pieces could be used to move the whole thing. As Nar picked his way along unhurriedly, what were surely tons of rock heaved and slid from practically beneath his feet, sliding into the gorge below and presumably (hopefully!) blocking the gate. The hobbit touched the stone and tried to follow along with what Nar was doing but all he sensed was turmoil and motion. Conditions were shifting too fast for him to keep track of, it was just all whirling motion and tension building and snapping too quick to track. He hadn't realized how deep the broken stone went, and more and more poured down into the chasm. If this was what a Stonekeeper could do, Bilbo marveled, no wonder they are so honored and respected! He had never seen anything quite like it. Nar shepherded the fall, ensuring that it stayed moving, pushing this stone or that one to keep the smaller rocks running over the edge. When it was done, the slope was much more steep above a flat spot, and a small gap showed the cave that he had felt. He would have felt proud, but he was too busy feeling a familiar headache. Something in that cave was immensely powerful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update has taken so long. I've rewritten this about forty-leven times, and it's been a hell of a week. Thanks to you all for reading, and your kudos and comments are welcome. I will try to get the next installment up a little quicker.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bilbo finds something that was lost long ago, is shocked to find himself proclaimed a legend, and discovers just how unpleasant life in the wilds can be even for the supposedly legendary when there are orcs about.

As the last of the pebbles rattled down into the ravine, Balin and Vekkad made their way over to peer cautiously down at where the orcs' gate had been. Bilbo stared at the narrow cave mouth, half afraid to approach it. He had an involuntary memory of the feeling of the road to Rivendell, where the magical emanations were so strong that he passed out and fell off his pony; this felt similar, though the magic in the cave was quite different from the Last Homely House. Rivendell felt warm and friendly with Elrond's magic, which would have been comfortable if it weren't so overwhelming; whatever was in this little niche in the stone felt like a campfire or a forge, heating and purifying. Not for the first time, the hobbit wished there was a language to describe such things. 'Felt' was vague, but it wasn't properly a taste or a smell or anything else of the senses either. Thorin glanced over at him, interrupting his musing, and Bilbo knew he had to speak up. "There's something in that cave that is very strong. Let me go see." Thorin started to speak, but Bilbo held up a hand. "If I don't return in the next ten minutes... come find me, please."

"It might be dangerous. I will go with you." Thorin stepped closer, but Bilbo shook his head.

"I'm sure I'll be fine. It's not dangerous, just... very strong. Come to the entrance with me if you wish, so you can hear me call if I need you. But I need to be able to do this sort of thing by myself, Thorin." The only response was a look of concern, but at Bilbo's glare the prince sighed and gave him a grumpy nod. Honestly, Bilbo thought, you brought me along to do a job and now you don't want me to do it! Typical stubborn dwarf. He chose to ignore the warm flush he got from Thorin's blatant desire to protect him. They picked their way over to the cave, and Bilbo's head was swimming from the power of whatever-it-was. Fighting off dizziness, he said "Wait for me here," and ducked inside. 

The cave was a small thing, barely worth the name. Oddly enough it was almost exactly the same size and shape as the troll-hole they had found on the moors. Unlike that, though, it was obvious to Bilbo's nascent stone sense that this cave was completely natural. It felt utterly different, for one thing; his stone sense somehow knew that this was just a weathered hole in the rock, completely natural. The floor was uneven, as was the ceiling, and it dipped down in the back to a height that the hobbit found a bit snug but that a man or elf would never be able to tolerate without crawling. Still, none of that could block out the feeling of being in here with something of overwhelming power. The waves of energy from of whatever it was beat against him like a strong wind. As he went in, the cave turned in the back into a niche, the same area where the bone pile had been in the trolls' cave, but here there was just a single skeleton laid out on the floor. Judging by the height and the thick bones, Bilbo felt it must have been a dwarf, but the body had been trapped here for what must have been ages. There were a few glints of metal around the skull, but on the floor next to the skeleton was perhaps the most perfect axe Bilbo had ever seen. It looked like it had been cast from a single piece of silvery metal; the surface of both the blade and haft were almost supernaturally smooth. The only thing that broke the lines of it were the rotted remnants of leather were wrapped around the handle, looking almost dirty against the shining purity of the rest of the haft. This axe was the source of the feeling, and looking at it Bilbo felt dizzy and short of breath. Bilbo had never seen another item with such an incredible aura. It even felt stronger than the elven sword they had found in the cave, and that was no ordinary item.

The hobbit walked slowly closer, and the nearer he came to it, the more it felt to his magic sense like he was facing a roaring campfire. The hair on his feet was standing up. He knelt down and tried to lift the axe but it felt exactly like he had touched a boiling kettle fresh from the fire. Whipping his hand back, he almost cursed in shock; that wasn't anything he had ever encountered either. There was no way it could really be that hot, he thought dazedly, staring down at his burnt fingertips. Surely he'd see smoke or heat shimmers or... Bilbo looked again at the leather binding on the handle. It occurred to him that the leather hadn't burned, or even singed. Taking off his travel cloak, he dragged the hem across the axe quickly and held it up to his face to examine. Nothing, no scorching, no smell of burnt wool. Wrapping his hand in the cloak, he cautiously tried to pick the axe up and it came smoothly. Whatever the metal was, it was much lighter than he had expected, lying in his hand no heavier than a stick of wood. He suspected that bare flesh would suffer, though, based on his fingertips, so he took care to hold it away from his body to minimize any chance of touching his exposed skin with it. When he picked it up, one of the metal bits around the skulls rolled away from the axe head. He realized that the metal around the skull was a scattering of beads cast of the same metal as the axe. Presumably they had been woven into the hair and beard of the poor dwarf who had been sealed in here, but nothing but metal and bone remained. He suspected that at least some of the beads might also have some inherent power, but standing in the axe's maelstrom of energy, attempting to determine such a thing was like trying to hear the sound of a single raindrop in the middle of a flood. He thought for a moment, but picked them up just in case. Looking down at the skeleton, Bilbo felt distinctly melancholy. This poor dwarf had been trapped in this cave behind tons of rock, with no way to get free. There was no indicator if it was intentional, punishing the poor soul for some crime, or whether they had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time, but either way, Bilbo wouldn't wish that fate on anyone. He stopped and bowed deeply to the body, wishing them peace in the afterlife, and then walked outside.

When he emerged, the others were all standing in a cheerful discussion. He assumed from the expressions on everyone's faces and the congratulatory backslaps and grins at Nar that the rockslide had accomplished its work quite effectively. Thorin was standing right at the entrance, but when he saw the axe, his eyes widened and he immediately dropped to his knees on the stone. The others looked up at the motion and promptly did the same, even Vekkad. The look on Thorin's face was a combination of awe and fear, and the others seemed dumbstruck. If Aule the Smith himself had stepped out of the cave, Bilbo imagined that the reaction would have been much the same. He carried the axe over to Thorin, hand still wrapped in his cloak.

"Be careful," he said quickly as Thorin reached out, "grab it by the cloth, it will burn..." Before he could finish the sentence, Thorin had seized the axe by the haft and pulled it free of the enveloping cloth. He held it up and the silver metal shone in the sunlight. Bilbo winced, expecting a shout of pain, but there seemed to be no effect on the leader's hands. Thorin had no reaction other than the same expression of awestruck wonder. "Well, it burned _me_," he said waspishly, then realized that nobody was listening.

Thorin choked out, "You..." He swallowed again. "You brought me... this? The _Baruk Dainul_?" Bilbo was puzzled, but he supposed it wasn't surprising that something this powerful would be known in the tales of the dwarves.

"I, well, if that's the name of this axe, then yes, it was in the cave with a dwarf skeleton. I mean, I felt it, and..." Bilbo knew he was babbling, but the reaction of the dwarves was frankly unsettling. Thorin continued to stare in wonder at the axe.

"You brought me _this_." The dark-haired leader repeated in a marveling tone. Then again, changing the emphasis, "_You_ brought me this." Bilbo was beginning to feel embarrassed, though he wasn't even sure for what.

"Well, as I said, it was in the cave with a..." Thorin stood and seized Bilbo's hand. His burned fingers throbbed in the dwarf's grip, and he tried to pull his hand away but Thorin's grasp was like iron.

"The line of Durin is forever in your debt, Bilbo Baggins. Though we labor for a hundred years, there is no way we can repay this. There is no favor too great for the service you have done for us." The others were still and quiet, staring at the axe in Thorin's hand. In a quieter voice, pitched for the hobbit's ears alone, he said "For me." Thorin's eyes met Bilbo's directly, and the look of sheer, hungry wanting in them sent a blast of warmth from the tips of his fuzzy toes to the crown of his head. Bilbo had no idea what he had or hadn't done by finding the axe, but he knew with absolute and crystalline certainty than nobody in the history of his entire, mostly quiet life had ever looked at him like that before. Now that someone had done, however, he realized how much he wanted it again, needed it again. Any thoughts of possible social consequences were suddenly swept away by a flood of corresponding desire; the hobbit could barely remember his own name, he craved Thorin so terribly at that exact moment. "I ask again, for the third time, Bilbo Baggins... may I court you?" Swept up in desire, the words barely registered. In that moment there was only one possible answer to anything Thorin could ask.

"Yes," Bilbo said, staring into Thorin's eyes. "Yes, anything." As soon as he spoke, a thrill of fear went through him. Well, he thought bitterly, you've put your foot in it now, haven't you? 

Thorin's joyful expression sent another thrill up Bilbo's nerves in defiance of the hobbit's second thoughts. "At last. We cannot stay here, but tonight... tonight, I will have an announcement for everyone. I only regret that I have no forge to make a bead especially for this; one of my own will do, I suppose." Beads, Bilbo thought. Something about beads... oh!

"Oh, yes, beads! I found these with the body as well. I think they might have some magic to them, but with the axe nearby, well, it's hard to tell, isn't it?" He handed over the three silvery beads and Thorin burst into laughter, a belly laugh with head thrown back that had him shaking. Wiping his eyes, he shook his head at Bilbo's exasperated and inquiring look. 

"You brought me mithril beads engraved with the sigil of Durin on them, just as I ask to court you. Truly this union is blessed by Mahal." Thorin chuckled again softly at Bilbo's eye roll. "Keep this one for a bit, if you please," he said, handing one over after looking at the three of them closely for a moment. He smiled fondly but quickly sobered. "But you said there was a body. It is still there?"

"Yes, of course," Bilbo waved a hand at the cave after securing the bead in his pocket, "There's a skeleton inside that is all that was left of the dwarf who was wearing those beads and carrying that axe. I felt a bit of a tomb robber, to be honest, but of course it's no proper tomb. Poor devil had no chance trapped behind all that rock."

"Nar!" Thorin called out. When the stocky dwarf came over, Thorin said "There is a body in the cave, I suspect it to be my kin. We cannot take the bones with us, but we must return for them; no dwarf of Durin's line should lie unburied. Learn this place, that we might return, and seal that hole to keep the body safe until we can retrieve it." The bulky Broadbeam nodded once and went over and started stacking stones at an unbelievable pace in the entrance. Once again, Bilbo was amazed. Nar seemed to be able to instinctively grab a stone that fit exactly into the remaining space. Within what seemed only a few minutes there was a solid wall of stone stacked in the entrance, each stone fitting into its neighbors exactly like a puzzle that had just been waiting to be reassembled. While the 'keeper worked, the others came and held a brief, hurried discussion. In all the excitement over the axe (an excitement which still left Bilbo confused) the dwarves seemed to have temporarily forgotten that there was a whole mountainside full of orcs directly beneath them, doubtless digging away industriously at the pile of rubble blocking their gate. 

While they waited, Thorin motioned to Balin, who came over. "Old friend, I seem to have a sword I no longer need," he said, offering the hilt of the elven sword to Balin. "It's yours if you want it." The old white-haired adviser laughed delightedly.

"You honor me, Thorin." Balin smiled at the other dwarf fondly. "I don't want it, but it's a kingly offer. You know why I fight with this," he said as he patted his own sword. "No other blade would be made for me by Bur. I'd rather fight with this than the _Baruk Dainul_, and that's a fact." Thorin looked sad for a moment.

"Aye," he said softly. "But I wanted to let you choose. It's yours if you want it. Besides," he grinned widely, "you're the only one that could use it! Everyone else that fights uses an axe, and Ori's too useful as a medic." Bilbo felt a brief surge of annoyance that he wasn't even mentioned, before laughing at himself. As if he could even use the blade he had, let alone a sword almost as long as him! "But it wasn't made by Bur, you're right about that. I'll keep it, then. Another treasure for the armory." 

As they waited, Bilbo stood beside Ori and asked "So, tell me about the axe I found. I seem to be the only one who doesn't know." Ori's face confirmed right away how important a find it was.

"That's right, you couldn't know, not being a dwarf." Ori choked up for a moment. "Oh, to think I would live to see this day! Bilbo, that is the _Baruk Dainul_, the Axe of Dain, also called the Perfect Axe. It was made by Durin the Deathless for his son Dain, so that Dain would have a way to defend himself. It may be the first axe ever made." Bilbo had no idea that anything so old still existed, but the idea that he had touched something out of legends was amazing. Ori continued, "That axe is within two hundred years of being as old as the whole of our race. It was an heirloom of the House of Durin, Thorin's house, for thousands of years, one of the only things we have that were made by the hands of Durin himself. It went missing at some point, I don't remember when, but people said if it had still been in the hands of Durin VI he never would have fallen in Khazad-dum to Durin's Bane. Our home would never have been lost." Ori shook his head in bemusement. "That it has been returned to us... that changes everything." Balin and Thorin wandered over, having heard part of the conversation about the axe.

"Aye," Balin said with sparkling eyes, "changes everything indeed! If you had shown up to Erebor and brought this back, you could have had the whole mountain in exchange for it." Bilbo laughed, but realized none of the others were even smiling.

"He's not joking, Bilbo," Thorin said bluntly. "It is beyond price. A mountain made of mithril would barely be enough. I meant what I said. There is literally nothing we could do to equal the gift of its return. When you came out of that cave with the _Baruk Dainul_ in your hand, in that very moment you became a hero of the Longbeards, and to some extent of all dwarves. Your life changed this day, whether you know it or not. The story of our journey will become a teaching song. Your name will never be forgotten. We are living myths right now, you especially." Bilbo fell silent at that point. Part of him thought Thorin was being melodramatic, but... how could he be a myth, or a hero? He was just Bilbo. The others seemed to sense how disturbing the hobbit found this news to be, and let him stand silently and think. While they had been talking, however, Nar had hurriedly finished the wall. As soon as it was complete, Thorin strapped the axe over the sword he already carried and the group set off without another word into the late afternoon light.

Once they were back on the flat path past the mound of rocks blocking the orc gate, they began to move at a ground-covering trot. Bilbo was exhausted, but he stumbled gamely along trying to keep up as the others ran tirelessly on. Soon enough the pass opened out into the foothills of the eastern side of the mountains. It seemed that the gate had been built in the last truly narrow part of the path before the pass entered the foothills. There were no small copses of trees or heavy vegetation on this side; piles of barely covered dirt were host to only patchy grasses and the occasional scrubby bush, though there was a line of forest farther off. For the first time in an hour, as they passed out of the shadow of the mountains a voice broke the silence.

"There's never just one entrance to an orc-lair. Once they come out, they will be tracking us once they investigate the fall. Even if they didn't know we were there, the first warg to visit will smell our steps as soon as it approaches. Look for water, maybe we can shed the trackers," said Balin. Several of the others nodded, and Vekkad peeled off to the side to see if he could spot a rill or stream coming out of the mountains. This side was clearly drier than the other, though, and water seemed scarce. Search as they would, though, no water was found. By the time the sun had vanished behind the jagged mountains looming behind them, they had reached the edge of the forest. The shadows of the mountains covered them where they stood, though the tops of the peaks were still golden on the horizon. Bilbo was so tired he could barely move, and all he could think through each heavy footfall was how much he hated their ponies for vanishing so inconveniently.

They stopped for a brief moment to rest, and as they set down their packs to take a respite Bilbo fell full length on the ground. He thought he might not be able to ever rise again, once down. Grass and dirt had never felt so comfortable, and even the small stone digging into his lower back was acceptable as long as he didn't have to go any further. No sooner had he stretched out than his legs began cramping painfully from the unaccustomed exertion, and he was massaging them when Thorin said "We cannot stop here for the night in the open. Worse, there's no way we can outrun the wargs, if they have them. We need to find a spot that can be defended and hope they find us late if they find us at all."

"Thorin," Bilbo said softly. At the quick glance from the leader, he said in an embarrassed voice, "I don't think I can run any farther." As his legs cramped again, he winced and continued rubbing his calves. "I'm not even sure I can stand." He felt even worse when Thorin looked down and sighed heavily. Digging in one of the food bags, Ori started passing out wafers of cram to an absence of the usual grumbles. It was a bad sign when dwarves were too tired to complain, Bilbo thought.

"So be it," Thorin said. "Vekkad, find us a place where we can put our back to something. Nar, you're the strongest here, can you carry Master Baggins?" Vekkad gave Bilbo another of his sour looks, but vanished without a sound into the growing shadow, leaving the remainder of his food with Ori. Now Bilbo really felt dreadful. Hero of the Longbeards indeed! Who ever heard of a hero too tired and cramped-up to move, even when his life was in danger? Perhaps Vekkad is right to despise me, for what a burden I am, he thought. This adventuring business was never a good idea, but I'm stuck now, and no mistake. If only Gandalf were here, he'd be able to use his magic for something, surely! He glanced over at Thorin where the leader was conversing in low tones with Balin, heads close together, and the dark-haired dwarf's sharp features were intent. Bilbo felt a burst of instinctive longing, but the longing was swiftly followed by puzzled introspection.

For the first time, Bilbo thought how odd it was that he should be attracted to Thorin. For all the times that he had agonized over the idea of loving another male, it hadn't previously occurred to Bilbo that most hobbits wouldn't find Thorin (or any dwarf, really) particularly handsome. The dwarven prince had none of the characteristics that Bilbo had been raised to think of as attractive. Thorin's hair was too long and too straight, his features too sharp, his body both too trim and far too muscular for Shire tastes. He even had a full beard, unheard of in a hobbit! He had practically no fat, certainly not the paunch of a healthy hobbit. Compared to Bilbo, Thorin's feet were absurdly dainty, and though Bilbo had never seen them out of their iron-shod boots, he was quite certain they would have no proper covering of hair; if Thorin was anything like what Bilbo had seen of Nar at the troll-cave, his chest and belly were furry instead of smooth. The broad shoulders and mighty biceps that took Bilbo's breath away would never be seen in the Shire as desirable by the hobbits there. Why, Bilbo wondered, did they appeal to him so much? It made no sense. For that matter, Thorin seemed taken with him as well, and he was hardly like any dwarf ever born... smooth-faced, smooth-bodied, short, pudgy, weak (by dwarven standards, anyway); where was the appeal? These musings were cut short by Vekkad returning.

"Less than fifteen minutes run inside the treeline, there's a cliff, at least thirty feet down. If we climb down to the base of it, we can be secure on one side, two with a brief dig." The Firebeard took his wafer of cram back from Ori, who had been holding it for him wrapped in the packing cloth. Jamming the rest of it in his mouth at once, he snatched up his pack. The rest followed suit, with Thorin picking up Bilbo's small bundle and Nar picking up the hobbit himself. Bilbo hated the undignified nature of the transport, though the broad shoulders beneath him were almost like riding on a wagon. It really was absurd how wide Nar was, he thought, but thinking had to stop when he was being bounced around like a parcel. As the last of the twilight faded, they arrived at the cliff and threw down a rope. After they clambered down to the bottom, Vekkad untied the rope and threw it down. He then climbed down the wall, hands and feet moving surely in the deep gloom. Bilbo was astonished. How could he do that in what seemed like pitch darkness? It was a mystery, but he arrived at the bottom none the worse for the wear. As soon as they arrived at the base of the cliff, Balin, Thorin, Nar and Dwalin all began quickly digging in the dirt wall. In a trice, a shallow depression big enough to shield their backs if they were attacked had been hollowed out. They each bedded down for the night with weapons drawn and placed nearby, and Dwalin took first watch. Bilbo was surprised that Thorin made no mention of his agreement to be courted, but he was just as pleased for it to be left alone. He was too tired to care anyway.

The night passed slowly. The howls of wargs and normal wolves were heard in the distance, but as the hours slowly passed it seemed they had gotten lucky. During the third watch, an hour or so before dawn, the sound of snuffling came from the top of the cliff and a few small pebbles were knocked onto the sleeping camp. All of them woke immediately and waited in silence to see what would happen. Bilbo noticed his sword glowing with a pale blue light, and he quickly threw his cloak over it to hide it. Finally snarling voices drifted down, along with the panting of wargs who had clearly been running.

"I'm tired and this is bloody stupid," a deep voice grunted. "We've been out here all damn night for nothin'. No food, no drink, just runnin' around like rats on fire. There ain't nobody out here. Even if somebody had been here, there's no way they went over this stinkin' cliff. They'd have splatted and we'd smell the blood."

"Gurbash said he wants us to be thorough," a whining voice replied. "We got to look." Bilbo prayed as hard to the Green Lady as he ever had that Deep Voice won this argument.

"Gurbash can eat a poison toad, and you can tell him I said so, you little squealer," came the response. "There ain't nothin' here. He just wants to blame us because he's stupid enough to build under a landslide waitin' to happen. Intruders, says he. My arse. It ain't my fault he don't know how to dig, nor yours neither, for all that."

"You shouldn't talk like that. We'll both be for it if it gets reported. Besides, the wargs smell something... they've been tracking a scent," Whiny Voice replied. "They only act like that when they've got something. Whatever it was went over, though." More scuffling and pebbles falling. Suddenly there was a thud as a heavy rock fell, barely missing Balin, but the old dwarf didn't even move. Bilbo thought he had never imagined such discipline; he'd have screamed. "'Sounds like 's a long way down, though."

"I ain't climbin' down that, nor are these wargs. If you want to go down, go right on, don't let me stop you! You better hope there ain't nothin' there, though, because you little maggots can't fight worth spit. Me, I'm goin' back. The sun'll be up soon and I ain't stayin' out here and bein' blinded just so Gurbash can make excuses to Himself about why he shouldn't end up in the pot. Garn!" The sound of spitting.

"You can't go back without looking or we'll be in trouble, Gurbash said..." Whiny Voice started, then Deep Voice interrupted with a shout.

"I've heard about enough about Gurbash and what he said, you filthy weasel." A scuffle ensued. "You want to see what's down there so bad, go ahead and let me know!" There was a shriek followed by a loud crash and a sickening crunch as something hit the ground nearby. From the top of the cliff came a mocking "Woss it like down there? See any 'intruders'?" Deep Voice waited a moment and laughed. "Aww, seems he's tired. Sleep well then! Spyin' little sneak, see how good he reports back to Gurbash now." More harsh laughter drifted down, followed by the sound of someone moving away. A lack of sound from the body that now shared their space indicated that the presumed orc wouldn't be making any trouble beyond its unfortunate stench, but Bilbo and the dwarves all knew that there was no more sleep to be had that night.

When the light was finally strong enough to make out dim shapes, Bilbo saw the twisted corpse of an orc or goblin (what was the difference, he wondered). It had fallen flat on its back and clearly broken its neck, head lolling off at a strange angle. It was clad in a mix of filthy leathers and odd plates of scrap iron, and even without the black blood running out from beneath the corpse it stank to high heaven. Looking at the pinched face with giant, oddly insectile eyes and jagged sharp teeth, he thought it was quite the most vile, evil looking thing he had ever seen. The dwarves seemed indifferent, the only acknowledgement of it a quiet snicker as Dwalin went past the body and a brief look of disgust from Thorin. Without so much as a breakfast, they headed east into the sunrise, leaving only a flattened spot, a pile of dirt and a dead goblin to mark their passing.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thorin learns that you can only lead when people follow, Bilbo finds real food, a long-overdue chat is had, and a 'proper' courtship is established... whatever that means.

Once they were moving, everyone relaxed somewhat, though Bilbo felt like his belly was about to eat his spine and he was still feeling the aftereffects of the previous day's utter exhaustion. The terrain on this side of the mountain range was much more variegated than the moors and foothills of the other side had been; once they had gotten beyond the barren zone of dry foothills, the forest was interspersed with large open glades and meadows, and the soil seemed rich. It even smelled rich; every breath brought the fertile scent of a rich land in early summer. It would have been premium farmland, the hobbit reflected, if would-be farmers didn't have to worry about orcs and wargs for neighbors. There was more life here as well; Vekkad commented pointedly several times to Thorin about deer tracks and animal scat along the path, but the leader ignored the increasingly broad hints in order to keep putting distance between the group and the mountains. Bilbo was forced to revise his previous estimate; clearly there was plenty of rainfall on this side of the Misty mountains. Something else must be causing the lack of water and general sere conditions of the mountain base, possibly some devilry of the orcs?

Thorin kept telling them that he was hurrying to get to (and hopefully cross) the Anduin. Everyone kept moving, though as midday passed and cram was handed out at a brief stop for rest near a trickling stream, the grumbling began. By midafternoon, a revolt was brewing. As the company were passing through a decent sized clearing filled with long grass, first Balin and then everyone else just stopped and sat. Thorin kept walking for a few yards, then turned and saw everyone sitting down and digging in their packs. "Time for a brief rest?" he asked, but even Bilbo refused to make eye contact. The prince watched in increasingly astonished irritation as Balin headed off to gather wood and his larger brother Dwalin leaned against a tree, making a half-hearted and leisurely appearance of 'standing guard'. Nar pulled out a sharpening stone and ostentatiously began work on the edge of his axe, sighting along it like he would see secrets in the steel. Ori just lay flat on his back in the grass, seeming to go to sleep the instant his head was down. Vekkad was likewise careful to avoid eye contact with the furious Thorin, but just strung his bow and muttered something about game before heading off into the trees. "We must keep moving! Vekkad! Balin!" Thorin called after them. "There's no time to..." It was obvious when he realized that he was wasting his breath, shouting into the woods, and his irritation sat around him like a cloak as he stomped over to a convenient stone and flopped down onto it. Bilbo risked a glance over at him, and was terribly amused to see the dark-haired dwarf in a completely unregal pout.

The hobbit rummaged a bit in the bag of cooking gear and came up with the bowl he had used to gather strawberries in the Shire (and by the Green Lady, that felt like it was so long ago!) He was so tired he was worried he would pass out like Ori, but someone would need to cook dinner. He knew from experience that the only way he would stay awake was to keep moving, so better to go foraging than sit. He had seen numerous edible things in their morning's march, and he was sure that he could find something to cook tonight that would be better than the dusty, crumbly cram cakes they had been choking down for days. Even the cram supply was dangerously low. Once again, Bilbo thought about how on earth they were going to make do on the food they had left. Unless they took some time to restock, days in one place to hunt and gather and stockpile, or unless they found a village or settlement with food for sale, they would be going hungry within less than a week. He walked over to the sulking prince with his bowl held in front of him.

"I'm going to forage for food, please come with me." Thorin's glare turned on Bilbo, but the hobbit just looked down at him with a half-smile. "I should bring a guard, there might be another bear." Thorin growled, sounding rather bearlike himself, but looked away, glowering at the woods. Finally he spoke, but it was hardly an answer.

"We need to move! We can't just sit around and wait for orcs to come and kill us all! There's no time to..." he spat, like the hobbit was personally responsible for the delay. Bilbo didn't react to the tone, but shook his head and kept his response soothing.

"Thorin, we're all exhausted. Yesterday was madness, climbing mountains and then running all afternoon... we can't do that again. Nobody slept much last night. I haven't slept for several nights. If we don't rest, the orcs won't need to do anything but find our dead bodies." Bilbo ignored the glare and grabbed hold of Thorin's arm, tugging at it ineffectively. "Come on, you ridiculous dwarf, let's go find everyone something to eat." Even in his state of utter exhaustion, Bilbo marveled at his own cheek. He would never have acted like this at home. Then again, he thought wryly, there were a lot of things he was doing lately he would never have dared to do at home. Thorin looked at him, somewhat astonished, and continued grumbling but allowed himself to be dragged upright and then tagged along behind the hobbit as he wandered the edges of the wood. Neither of them saw Nar and Dwalin watching their little discussion then grinning at each other across the campsite as they left.

"Are there any settlements in these parts?" Bilbo asked, eyes scanning the ground. He found a few mushrooms he recognized and quickly piled them in the bowl. There were a number he didn't, but he knew better than to touch anything he didn't know where mushrooms were concerned. A stand of blackberry canes had yielded some almost-ripe fruit that would add a citrusy bite to something, though he had no idea what just yet.

"No," Thorin muttered. "Some men live far to the south, but not here. Nobody is safe living this close to Gundabad and the orc pits in the northern mountains." He kicked viciously at a pine cone in his path. "It's not safe here, or anywhere on this side of the Anduin this far north." Bilbo would have responded but he was distracted by a huge stand of golden chantarelles. Thorin continued speaking for a moment, but Bilbo was lost in a joyful place imagining the taste of these mushrooms once they had been cooked. With a squeak of joy, he flung himself on the patch and began plucking them gently but quickly from the loam and placing them in the bowl. Thorin looked at him askance. "This... is food?" he asked dubiously.

"Yes, you'll be amazed. Help me gather them if you like." Thorin reached down and tried to grab a mushroom and pulled it, dragging the whole stem and root fibers out of the loam. Bilbo looked over and tch'ed. "Not like that. Here, gently. Seize lightly, pinch, twist, pull. Treat it like it's fragile... because it is." Thorin pulled another one up, more gently this time but he still got a clod of humus at the bottom. Bilbo sighed and reached over and took Thorin's hand. Walking him through the motions slowly while holding his hand, the hobbit was fascinated with the feel of the hand under his. So strong and muscular, a dusting of dark hair on the back, thick fingers being guided to reach, twist, pull... he caught himself and flushed. Thorin smiled in triumph at the first perfect chanterelle in his hand, then glanced over at Bilbo's flushed face and his eyes grew dark and warm. With a teasing smile, he placed the chanterelle in the bowl and then flipped his hand. Bilbo felt the callused fingers slide over his own, and when Thorin lifted the small hand to his lips again, the hobbit's breeches were suddenly tighter than they had any right to be. He loved this and hated it all at once; it was exhilarating to feel, like being swept along in a powerful river, but it was also terrifying. Bilbo was used to being in control of his emotions, in control of his appearance, in control of all sorts of things. There was nothing in control about this; he felt like a stick in a maelstrom. "Thorin..." he whispered softly.

"_Azyungel_," Thorin said, his voice a low rumble. "In a way, I suppose it's good that we stopped to camp. Until I make the announcement, we are not yet formally courting. It is not proper to do more than kiss your hand," as his lips were pressed once more to Bilbo's knuckles. A gentle hint of wet tongue flicked across his knuckles and the hobbit thought his knees might very well buckle. "But that is not to say I don't want to do more. I very much want more. Much more." He pressed against the hand in his and sniffed deeply. Bilbo felt the moustache press against the back of his hand and he unconsciously leaned into the touch, bending over Thorin where he bent over Bilbo's hand. In spite of himself, he reached his other hand out and threaded it through Thorin's hair, sliding a beaded braid back along the small, rounded, shockingly unhobbitlike ear. Like the first time he touched the dark silver-streaked hair, it felt heavy and smooth in his hand. Thorin's hair felt like a horse's mane looked like it ought to feel, he thought wonderingly. Not the coarseness of an actual mane, but the way you felt it might feel when you were a child just seeing it flowing in the breeze, dense and fine and thick. Thorin's eyes fluttered shut. "That," he said in a broken voice, "is highly improper, Master Hobbit." Bilbo smiled, but a gasp tore itself from his lips when blue eyes opened, eyes that had turned the color of stormy skies. "And I don't want you to stop, but all the same if you don't stop that right now, this will turn even more improper very quickly."

"I... excuse me," the hobbit stammered, "I didn't mean to..." He was silenced with a finger across his lips and another of those scorching looks that made him feel like his bones were dissolving with desire.

"If I were any other dwarf in any other set of circumstances, this would be easier, my heart." He cupped Bilbo's cheek for a moment, and Bilbo daringly turned his face to kiss the palm of Thorin's hand. Once again, stormy eyes closed but Thorin's voice was clear. "I must be strict, and I apologize from the bottom of my heart. I wish that it were otherwise. As a prince, many would love nothing more than to be able to say that our courtship was done improperly, that we didn't follow the traditions... I would spare you that, if I could. We would not be out here alone now if I had made the announcement; it would not be proper for us to be alone, unchaperoned, so early in the relationship." Bilbo drew back, confused and flustered. Once again, he was on his back foot, unsure of what the rules were for a process he never thought he would be a part of. Really, he thought, it's all a bunch of bother and nonsense. Just an excuse for other people to stick their noses into what we two are doing! In that light, it reminded him so much of the Shire that he thought maybe he wouldn't be so adrift after all. Even the nosiest dwarven noble couldn't hold a candle to Mirabelle Proudfoot or Lobelia Sackville-Baggins when it came to being neck-deep in someone else's business.

"Very well, I'm sure you're right." Bilbo was delighted to hear that his voice was clear and steady, since he certainly felt neither of those things inside. "So tell me what the courtship process is. What precisely should I expect?" Thorin sighed.

"Yes, good, we should talk about it. Wise of you to think of it." This little bit of flattery made Bilbo's lips purse; he knew when he was being buttered up for something. "First, I will call you to my side, and together we will announce our courtship to the group. It's odd but not unheard of to do it on the road like this. Others will speak for you or be silent; if anyone objects, that is their chance to speak of it." Bilbo thought of Vekkad with a sinking sensation, but Thorin was clearly already prepared for that. "If anyone objects, I can challenge them to a duel to prove their point, but I doubt it will come to that. Once everyone has spoken (or not), we will give each other a courting braid; that's why I had you keep one of the beads. After that, over the course of the courtship, I will give you three gifts. The first gift is usually a weapon or armor, to show I will defend and protect you. The second varies, but shows what type of household I hope to make with you. The third is a gift of the heart, and can be anything, but almost always the third gift is made by the dwarf giving it to show what the other means to them. Each gift is given in front of a group of people, and if you accept it, then the courtship advances; if you don't, you must say whether it is delayed or rejected. Delayed means it was offered too soon, but the gift is acceptable; rejected terminates the courtship." Thorin's face was somber. "I hope never to have a gift rejected by you, _sanzeuh_."

"But I am expected to give you a gift as well, I think you said? Is it something I make, or what?" Bilbo thought he remembered that from their first discussion, but his memories of the night were somewhat overshadowed by the feel of Thorin Oakenshield's lips on his own, if only for a moment. A small smile and a chuckle was his reward for remembering.

"You brought me the Perfect Axe; nothing else you could possibly give me would compare to that, my heart. After the third gift, either at the same time or later, you give me something that indicates that you accept my suit." Thorin kissed his hand once again. "And then we wed. Mahal grant that it comes to that, and we live to get old and have centuries together." A cold wind blew through Bilbo, and suddenly he felt awkward again.

"Centuries?" He pulled back, ignoring the confused look on Thorin's face. "Thorin, I... hobbits only live a hundred or so years. I'm forty eight." Comprehension dawned on the dwarf's face, and a concerned look replaced the romantic one that had just been there. "We would have at most sixty or (if I am truly exceptional) seventy years together, and I will be old then. Very old. If you will live for centuries, perhaps..." Bilbo looked away, not wanting to see the look on Thorin's face. "Perhaps this is a bad idea. Maybe you should find another." Grimacing, he reached out and plucked one of the remaining chanterelles and put it in the bowl.

"_Azyungel_," Thorin began, then stopped, clearly trying to get his thoughts in order. Finally, he reached out and took Bilbo's hand again. The hobbit still didn't meet his eyes, but Thorin pressed the hand to his own chest over his heart. "The chances are good that you will outlive me. Dwarven princes and kings are warriors. We don't tend to die of old age. I hesitated so long to speak because... because I didn't feel it fair to you, if I should die before you did. If I did live to die of age, I would have at most another one hundred fifty years. I am almost two hundred now, I am no stripling of eighty or ninety." A thick-fingered hand came out and lifted Bilbo's chin, drawing his eyes up against his will. "But my heart... I do not think you understand what it means, that you are my One. There is no other to be found. When a dwarf finds his or her One, it does not mean that they will love together, for some never do, but it means that they have found the only one that they _can_ love. There can be no other. You are the other half of my soul. If we reject each other, so be it; I will go unaccompanied through my life." Thorin's wry smile was like a dagger in Bilbo's chest. "But it is not so simple as to say 'find another', like changing one's timber dealer or moving houses. Only you can ring the bell with me."

"What does that mean?" Bilbo suddenly asked, desperate to think about anything other than that he had been, what, destined to be with Thorin? It sounded ridiculous but he could tell that the dwarf believed it thoroughly. That makes it true for him, he thought, whether it is or not. First I have a dwarven soul, then I'm a legend, now I'm a destined partner, this is getting ridiculous. What next, I'm a wizard? I'm the same stupid hobbit from the Shire I always was... aren't I? Snapping his attention back to the dwarven prince in front of him, he clarified, "Someone else used that expression, 'ring the bell'. What bell?" Thorin's puzzlement at the seeming non sequitur gave way to understanding, and he smiled.

"Each temple to Mahal is supposed to have a bell in it, but the bell has no clapper. When two dwarves are each others' One, they go during their wedding and they press their hands to the bell. It will ring if they are properly matched. It's almost never done now in practice, but the saying lives on; to find your proper mate is to find the one who 'rings the bell'. It shows the blessing of Mahal on the union, the louder the better." Thorin looked off into the woods, and Bilbo realized more time has passed than he thought. They should get back to camp. In a soft voice, Thorin went on, "but with you, I think the bell would ring under our hands to fill the whole mountain with sound." Bilbo flushed again. Blast and confound Thorin, he thought in a huff, what are you supposed to say to a statement like that? Left to its own devices, what his mouth would say would be most improper indeed, so he opted for the safest route.

"We should head back to camp." Thorin sighed and nodded, and they went back in companionable silence. Vekkad had come back carrying a goose that he had shot as it flew overhead, and by the time they got back it had even been plucked. Bilbo was distracted from his thoughts of his discussion with Thorin by thoughts of proper food, and if he hadn't been disliked so much by the surly Firebeard he would have gone over and hugged him. A goose meant fat, and fat plus a little salt and pepper meant a way to saute the mushrooms into a meal fit for a king. Balin had prepared and banked a fire beautifully, and Bilbo set to work. By the time dinner had arrived, all six of his companions were sitting so close they were practically in his way from the smells being produced. Thorin took the first bite of the sauteed chanterelles they had picked and moaned out loud, and the sound made Bilbo's mind go to very inappropriate places very quickly. Leaning into the fire to hide his flush, he kept turning the pieces of bird flesh he was searing. Ori had fetched some water from a small stream nearby, and once the meat was seared it went into the pot of water with the last of the thyme, some salt and pepper and some left over rendered fat, and it was set close to the fire to simmer. That, he thought with a smile, would be a late second course dinner in an hour or so, as well as a better breakfast than cram. Though honestly, sticks and rocks might be a better breakfast than cram by this point. Finally he was able to sit back and eat his own food, secure in the knowledge that he had finally made (and had) a decent meal again. Once everyone had finished and the dishes had been cleaned up, the light was fading and they needed to smother the fire; it was nice to be able to cook again, but a fire at night would draw all sorts of unwanted attention to their camp.

"Master Baggins, would you join me?" Thorin's voice called out. Bilbo's stomach sank. Although he had still felt a slight pang of hunger a moment ago, the good food he had just eaten was suddenly a leaden weight in his gut. He stood and walked over to where the dark-haired dwarf was standing. The others were all staring with knowing expressions, most smiling though Vekkad looked like he had eaten an entire lemon. As if that weren't enough, Bilbo saw everyone start surreptitiously reaching for their money pouches. "_Hrum_." said Thorin, and the others echoed it. "I will speak and you will hear and witness. I, Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, of the line of Durin, have found my One in Bilbo Baggins, son of..." Bilbo whispered in his ear, "Bungo Baggins, of the Shire. I offer him my hand in courtship." He held out his hand, and Bilbo took it, feeling like many more eyes were on him than just the six he had traveled with for weeks. "If any would speak for or against this match, speak now."

"I will speak for this match." Balin's polished voice was clear as he stood, and Bilbo was surprised and pleased that the old adviser thought he was a good match for Thorin. "Bilbo's wisdom is an asset to us all. Even when he felt he had been wronged, he spoke to me as a friend, and forgave misunderstandings without concern. I, Balin son of Fundin, approve of this match." Thorin's smile was radiant; Bilbo suspected that he hadn't been sure the old dwarf approved. He felt the prickle of tears from the unfamiliar idea of actually receiving the approval of someone else as worthy.

"I will speak for this match." Ori said, standing up. "Bilbo's knowledge is strong and will be of help to us as a people. He knows much of history that we do not, history of men and hobbits and elves, that may be of use to us in many ways. I Ori, son of Bari, approve of this match." Bilbo smiled at the young scribe, who smiled bashfully as he sat back down. Thorin nodded.

"I will speak for this match." Nar's deep voice rumbled out. "Bilbo has a good sense of stone, and he also has a good sense of his limits. When he knows, he says, when he doesn't, he says he doesn't. That's rare in dwarf and non-dwarf alike. I Nar, son of Naruk, approve of this match." The massive Broadbeam grinned at them both and flopped back down where he had been sitting. Bilbo was deeply touched.

"I will speak for this match." Dwalin's voice shocked everyone, even Balin gauging by his reaction, but the taciturn warrior stood up. "Bilbo is a brave little thing, and he has no fear of a fight though he has never been trained. He walked into a troll-hole to find something he felt, he walked into an unknown cave without knowing what was inside, and he didn't flinch or hesitate. His heart is true. I Dwalin, son of Fundin, approve of this match." With that, he sat down with an audible thud, as if to say 'so there'.

Every eye was on Vekkad. Bilbo wasn't sure if the irascible Firebeard would object or not, and clearly he wasn't alone. He wasn't sure what the procedure was for not speaking, but surely there must be one? Not everyone would have an opinion of every match, he was sure, though dwarves certainly seemed to have no shortage of opinions on a wide range of topics. With a grunt, the slight built dwarf stood up. "I will speak... for this match." It seemed to cost him effort to say it, but still you could have knocked Bilbo over with a feather. "Master Baggins returned a piece of the soul of our people to us, it is only right that he should be rewarded." Thorin's brows drew down at this sentence, but he said nothing. "I Vekkad, son of Tukkad, approve of this match." He sat down to sidelong looks from the others, but that didn't stop the coins from passing from one side to the other.

Thorin reached in his pocket and drew out one of the beads that Bilbo had found in the cave. "I give this heirloom of my house in token of my pledge to you, Bilbo Baggins." He reached up and pulled out a section of Bilbo's curly hair. The fine hair fought him, but he was able to wrestle a thin braid into it and bind it with the mithril bead. "May it bring you joy, long life, and carry my love always with you." The dwarf took the hobbit's hand, and kissed it again. Bilbo felt entranced as always, but realized that Thorin was looking at him expectantly. Oh, right, the bead.

Bilbo fumbled in his pocket and pulled out the silvery bead. He took a small section of Thorin's hair and frantically tried to remember braiding his cousin's hair when they were faunts together. He put in a slightly messy braid and closed it with the bead. Everyone was looking at him, and he tried to remember what Thorin had just said. Blasted dwarves and their flowery speeches! "I uh... I give this bead as my pledge to you, Thorin, son of Thrain." He felt like his throat was closing up. What was the second part? Something about well-wishing? "May it bring you... good food, good restful sleep, the comfort of true companionship, and carry my love always with you." He looked at Thorin's face and saw an expression of such absolute devotion it made him feel dizzy. An approving murmur went through the group. Thorin gave one of those half-smiles that made Bilbo weak, leaned over and kissed him. Bilbo realized that he was in serious trouble. Having Thorin kiss his hand was bad enough, but having him kiss his lips... he could fall into this sensation and never come out again. He found himself clutching at the broad shoulders, kissing with increasing heat until he suddenly remembered (by the intrusion of loud raucous whooping and cheering) that they were standing in front of a rather large audience. He pulled away and tried to hide his face in Thorin's shoulder, but saw in passing the utterly wicked grin on his partner's face.

"Finally!" Dwalin called out. "Took you two long enough."

Balin came over, smiling warmly. "Congratulations to you both!" He winked at Thorin. "Now, don't go running off together again without a chaperone. This afternoon was bad enough, but now that things are official..." Thorin huffed and made an offended face as Bilbo wanted to run away into the woods from embarrassment.

"Yes, yes, alright. I already told Bilbo that. Thank you, Balin." After some more congratulatory conversations, the whole party settled in to sleep, with Bilbo very properly being kept on the other side of the camp from Thorin. Bilbo worried about being able to fall asleep with all that he had experienced, but the thought wasn't even complete before he was out like a snuffed candle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Azyungel : beloved  
Sanzeuh : my One  
Hrum : Sound to announce a formal or sacred ceremony, the Dwarvish version of the Anglo-Saxon 'Hwaet!'


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bilbo puts a good face on a bad day, but the day continues to get worse, the party catches a bad case of orc, and Bilbo makes life much more difficult for everyone by taking the path of virtue.

Bilbo woke to the sound of birds. Despite Thorin's grim predictions of the day before, nothing had disturbed their rest in the night. As he rolled over, something cold and metallic pressed against his temple and he remembered in a rush that he and Thorin were now officially courting. Memories crowded in, the faces of the dwarves, Thorin's expression, the words of the other dwarves, the feel of Thorin's hair. In spite of himself panic gripped him and he fought it down, pressing his eyes closed. This must be how a fish feels, he mused. No matter how much time and effort is spent trying not to get caught, and suddenly one day what seems to be a normal meal turns against you and you're hooked. He knew intellectually that he was... not displeased with how things were working out (since any stronger term was quite outside his grasp at the moment). Still, he couldn't fight the sense of utter wrongness, that he had betrayed some fundamental principle of existence by acting on desires that he had kept so suppressed for so very long. Even though Thorin had pursued him, even kissed him, still the issue wasn't Thorin's; Bilbo knew that the Shire would see that a dwarf's actions were his own business and nothing to do with them. One of their own participating, though, that was a tremendous scandal and the disgrace would be crushing. He would never be able to return, he knew that... just being kissed in public (a small voice whispered treacherously, _and it wasn't as if you weren't kissing back_, but it was harshly silenced) was enough to ensure that he would never be allowed in a Hobbiton parlor again. His disgrace was complete. Deciding to set propriety aside was one thing, but convincing your heart was quite another, Bilbo kept discovering. His eyes prickled and hot tears of shame trickled into his bedroll.

"Time to rise, Bilbo," came Balin's voice. Bilbo tried to duck his face into his blanket, but the keen-eyed adviser spotted the tears anyway. "Oh dear." The old dwarf looked away, giving Bilbo a chance to compose himself. "You know," he said in a conversational tone that reminded the hobbit of their first real conversation back in the Shire, "it's not uncommon among dwarves to have concerns at major times of their lives. When a baby is born, when they come of age, when they get married or begin courting... sometimes it can seem overwhelming. Is it so for your people as well?" Bilbo was torn. While he reluctantly admired the old adviser's skill in talking around problems, he didn't feel up to verbal jousting at the moment. He wasn't up for any advice, well-meaning or otherwise, and he certainly didn't feel like making small talk.

Bilbo cleared his throat, then spoke. "Most of the things we get upset about in the Shire would seem trivial to dwarves, I'm sure." He sat up, putting a good face on a bad day, as his mother used to say. "I should heat the stew for breakfast."

"Already done," Balin said, eyes twinkling. Bilbo chose to ignore the concern still visible around the edges of the white-haired dwarf's expression. "We let you sleep a bit since you were so exhausted. There's a bowl set aside for you near the coals when you're ready, but Thorin is eager to get moving. We'll probably make the Anduin by this afternoon, and we'd like to get to a ford before sundown." Looking around, the hobbit realized that almost the whole camp was packed up again except for a few pieces of cooking gear and his bedroll. Sighing, he stood and began gathering his things quickly. This promised to be yet another long day.

As they set off, the weather stayed good, though there were intermittent clouds overhead. The forest got thicker, but there were no other massive drops or cliffs to contend with, just overgrown woodlands with increasingly scarce glades and clearings. Conversation was nonexistent. The whole party seemed focused solely on movement, and Bilbo felt a bit petty in the knowledge that at least he wasn't the only one feeling the effects of the brutal pace Thorin was setting. Just as Balin had predicted, they came to the banks of the Anduin by early afternoon. Bilbo had read accounts of how wide the river was to the south, almost a mile across if the books were to be believed, and how it plunged down at Rauros before making its way past white-towered Gondor to the sea. While the river was not so wide here with the other bank clearly visible, Bilbo thought it was quite the widest river he had ever seen, far larger and broader than the Brandywine. Hobbits didn't care much for water, certainly not for large bodies of it, and this huge expanse of slowly eddying, murky brown water was a bit terrifying. Without a ferry like at Buckland, or at least a boat, he couldn't imagine how they were proposing they get across. He made the mistake of asking Thorin.

"We go north until we find a ford," was the curt reply. Thorin's face looked grim today, and Bilbo felt uneasy and sad. He knew that Thorin was moody and often cranky, but he was hoping for a smile or some acknowledgement of last night's commitment. The hobbit hoped that the mood of the day had nothing to do with him. He hadn't really recovered from the morning's upset, just set it aside, and it was all too easy to believe that no dwarf could possibly be interested in a simple Shire-dweller such as himself. It was that same insecurity that made him continue to ask questions.

"But where is there..." He started, only to be interrupted by a curt gesture from Thorin.

"Be silent." The leader cocked his head at the woods, shooting Bilbo a warning look. "Sound carries far over water, and there are most likely orcs about." The harsh words hit Bilbo hard, and he fell back immediately. Ori and Balin both gave him sympathetic looks, but of course they didn't speak. He trudged along in increasing misery. Why had he thought being courted by Thorin meant anything, he wondered morosely. The whole thing was at best a terrible idea, at worst a joke, some dwarven jest at his expense. Maybe Thorin was using Bilbo to irritate Vekkad; maybe it was just all a plot to make the little hobbit look foolish. The longer he thought, the worse he felt, spinning up more and more elaborate scenarios as to why Thorin would pretend to be smitten with the hobbit only to crush him. They walked for what seemed forever along the river with Bilbo steeping in his own misery every step of the way. By the time they stopped for a short rest he was practically in tears. Needless to say, there was no sign of any orcs. As if to mock them, the river seemed to be getting deeper the farther upstream they went, and if it was narrowing, it wasn't by much. Thorin looked over and seemed shocked at the expression on Bilbo's face. He came over and sat next to the hobbit, touching his hand and raising his eyebrows when Bilbo jerked his hand away abruptly.

"_Azyungel_", Thorin said softly, "what is the matter?" Bilbo glared at him, but knew that he was so close to crying that he really shouldn't speak. His treacherous lips parted without his mind being involved, however.

"The matter?" he heard himself say in a high, bitter voice. "Why should anything be the matter? I will just be silent as Your Highness has so graciously instructed." He sniffled, then cursed under his breath. Thorin could not have been more shocked if Bilbo had punched him.

"What...? Why are you upset? I told you, there might be orcs, in fact the further north we go, the more likely there will be orcs, at least on this side of the river." He reached out and tried to take Bilbo's hand again, but the look on the hobbit's face made him recoil quickly. "What is wrong with you?"

"Wrong with...!" Bilbo was suddenly so angry he could barely speak. It caught him completely off guard. He opened his mouth to tell Thorin exactly what he thought of him, his rudeness, his imaginary orcs, and everything else. Of course, that was the precise moment that the camp was attacked. 

The only warning was the crack of a branch from the woods where no dwarves were. Thorin leapt up and whirled around to face the noise, the mithril axe appearing in his hands like magic. An orc screeched to one side as Dwalin was heard shouting "_Baruk Khazad! Ai-ruse_!" and then battle was on them. There were several huge, hulking brutes in the midst of the group, but the majority of the orcs seemed to be smaller like the one that had been flung so unceremoniously into their campsite two nights before. Bilbo barely had time to think _'but I thought they didn't like the sun'_ and then combat surrounded him. He drew his short blade and saw that it was glowing a white-blue again, and the magic in it felt stronger somehow. Two of the small bandy-legged orcs ran towards him, screeching loudly and waving curved iron swords. One laughed and reared back to strike, and before he even knew what he was doing he had thrust the sword directly into its gut. The blade slid in as easily as if the orc were made of cloth instead of flesh. It fell dead, dragging his arm down with it, and Bilbo almost fell over with it in shock at the realization that he had just killed another being. His reflections were interrupted as the second orc scampered up to him and attacked, swinging its blade at his head. Stumbling backwards, he fell over the body of the first orc, stabbing wildly at his attacker. Thorin glanced over from where he was engaging several of the orcs, including one of the giant heavyset ones. Seeing Bilbo beset, the prince bounded sideways to stand over him, beheading the small orc immediately with a swing of his axe and a huge gush of black blood that made the hobbit gag. Bilbo tried to stand, but saw one of the small orcs staying low and trying to stab Thorin from behind. He rolled forward and stabbed it with his sword, pushing his feelings of sickness and disgust away. The small goblin screeched and flailed at the touch of the elven blade. The sounds of combat came from nearby as the other members of the party battled as well.

Bilbo had never seen Thorin fight before; actually, to be perfectly honest, Bilbo had never seen anyone fight before. What he had never imagined was that someone could possibly fight as well as Thorin. The prince was an effortless engine of destruction, slaughtering orcs with grim efficiency. The Axe of Dain seemed to cut anything in front of it with laughable ease. Everything from orc flesh to iron armor was sheared through with impunity, and if the axe even touched an orc's hide, it left a clearly visible scorch mark that had them howling and trying to get away. The knowledge that a fleeing orc was even easier to behead was not something Bilbo had encountered in any chronicle he had read, but he was made very aware of this unpleasant fact by the day's events. Even the enormous orc in the middle of the pack attacking Thorin drew close to him and promptly lost both legs at the knee, and then his head. Bilbo wasn't sure whether to be amazed or disgusted, but he would never again question Thorin's ability to fight. It seemed like the battle raged for hours, but in fact it couldn't have been much longer than twenty minutes before the entire raiding party of orcs was dead.

Dwalin came up with a brief report. "All safe. Ori's nicked. Balin got a slice on his arm, but it'll be right soon enough." Thorin nodded, cleaning black blood off his axe. Bilbo was sitting quietly and shivering in the grass. Dwalin looked over at him. "Are you hurt, lad?" Bilbo shook his head, but couldn't stop shivering. He felt ice cold somehow, though the day was warm enough. All he could remember was the feeling of the blade sliding into the goblin, over and over. He barely leaned over before vomiting. Thorin was immediately at his side.

"First battle?" he asked gently. Bilbo nodded, still retching on bitter bile. Thorin gave him a single armed embrace, holding him tight. "You did well. Dwalin was right, you have a brave heart." He vaguely remembered being angry with Thorin about something, but that didn't seem relevant right now. The prince patted his shoulder under Dwalin's watchful eye, and Bilbo realized that even now they had a chaperone. The ridiculousness of the situation hit him suddenly and he started laughing. Thorin eyed him cautiously, but just held him while he giggled. He knew he sounded mad, and perhaps he was, but who cares, he thought. No madder than any of these dwarves, or this ridiculous journey. Ori came over, a bloody scratch on the side of his face but still smiling in a comforting way, patting Bilbo on the shoulder as he passed.

"Did you notice they'd already been in a fight?" Dwalin asked. Thorin shook his head, craning his head to look at the bodies from where he sat holding a shivering hobbit. "Some of the ones we killed were already bleeding or bandaged. They were on the run from something." A feral grin crossed the large warrior's face. "Guess it wasn't their day. Two arse-kickings, and the second one fatal." He spat. "Couldn't happen to a more deserving lot."

"No wargs, though," Thorin said in a puzzled tone. "Odd. I'd have expected them to be out here as cavalry, not infantry. We're too far to come on foot from their holes in a night, and I can't imagine these cave goblins would put up with much time out here in the sun." He stood, lifting a shivering Bilbo to his feet with one hand. "I don't like the looks of it, but I suppose we'll find out sooner or later." As it turned out, sooner it was. Less than a half mile to the north, they found a shallow spot in the river that could act as a ford. A dead warg lay in a heap in the middle of the stream, its filthy fur rippling in the water racing by. The water was only waist deep for the dwarves, but Nar carried Bilbo as he had when fleeing the mountains since it would be above the hobbit's waist (much to his disgust and chagrin). When they approached the warg, they saw that it had died of an arrow shot straight to the heart, and the arrow was still in the wound. When Vekkad pulled out the arrow, he sneered and said only one thing. "Elves."

No sooner had they crossed the river than the smell hit them. Thick and putrid, the stench of entrails and blood swept over them each time the breeze gusted from the east. Within a half-mile of the river, they came to a battlefield. What must be more than a hundred orcs and goblins lay dead on the ground, flies buzzing around and crows fighting over the corpses. Broken arrows littered the landscape, pale wooden long elvish shafts mixed with shorter, black barbs that were presumably orcish. Dozens of wargs were dead here as well, most by arrows but the occasional slash wound showed that there was swordplay involved. Thorin looked around, seemingly stunned.

"How?" he asked over and over again. "How could there possibly be this many orcs, so soon after we slaughtered such numbers? Do they breed in giant litters like rats?" Bilbo didn't know why he was so upset, but he could tell that something had knocked the dwarf prince completely off balance. Finally, Thorin turned to Balin and asked something that made it all fall into place. "Was it all for nothing, then? We lost so many, and then they just breed and breed until it's like nothing ever happened? Was Azanulbizar just a waste, then?" The old adviser's seamed face was grim, but he shook his head.

"Never a waste, Thorin. We can't think that way." In spite of his brave words, Balin sounded unsure. Even worse was Thorin's defeated expression. Bilbo had never imagined that the brave, confident warrior he was courting could ever look so broken and lost. It hurt his heart to see anyone look like that, but it was especially painful when it was his intended. Without even thinking of propriety, the hobbit went over and put his arms around Thorin, giving him comfort the only way he could think of. Thorin stiffened for a moment, but then melted into the embrace. The hobbit's hands patted the broad back soothingly, trying to ignore the hard muscles he could feel under the dark blue surcoat. He knew that the Battle of Azanulbizar had been traumatic, but seeing that it still had such a hold on Thorin after so long made him begin to understand just how traumatic it must have been. Interesting, Bilbo thought. I've read so many accounts of battles in various histories, but I never stopped to consider that each one of them left so many people broken and hurting afterwards. Balin cleared his throat meaningfully after seeing the two embracing, but finally looked away, picking at the makeshift bandages on his arm. Honestly, Bilbo thought, can't I even comfort the one I'm supposedly courting? it's not like I was stripping his clothes off! (Though the thought of stripping Thorin's clothes off was firmly suppressed, and right quickly at that.) These dwarves really are mad. That belief was further reinforced by Thorin taking a deep breath and suddenly leaping from his arms to bark orders.

"Well, enough of this. Nothing good ever came of standing around a pile of corpses. Clearly the elves solved this problem for us, and now we know what happened to our friends from earlier. Looks like the fight was yesterday, so step cautiously." Thorin moved decisively forward, the look on his face the forbidding scowl that Bilbo had come to realize meant embarrassment. He shook his head and Ori grinned at him before they all started moving again. As they picked their way around the piles of dead orcs, Bilbo saw something odd under a nearby thicket of bushes. Leaning over, he saw a boot that looked far too fine to be of orc-make. As he stopped and looked, he realized it was the body of what appeared to be a young auburn-haired elf, almost completely hidden in the bushes except for the boot which the hobbit had noticed. Ori realized that he had stopped and called to him to hurry up, but he signaled for a stop. The smell was appalling, but he didn't want to leave the poor elf unburied and just lying there. When he grabbed the body to move it, the warmth of the flesh told him that this 'corpse' wasn't any such thing. He pulled him out of the bushes and laid him out for examination, trying to avoid setting him in a large pool of black blood.

"Thorin!" he called. "This elf is alive!"

"So?" was the laconic response. Bilbo looked up in dismay.

"What do you mean, so? We can't just leave him here! The orcs might come back!" Bilbo was looking the elf over for wounds, but other than scrapes and minor cuts, there was nothing to indicate what might be wrong. Thorin's sigh of exasperation was perfectly clear. The others came back and stood around the hobbit, looking down curiously at the fallen elf.

Thorin grunted. "What are we supposed to do, carry him on our backs? Bilbo, he's an elf. His own people left him here. Who knows if he will recover or not, and who cares? We have to get to the..." Bilbo's pursed lips and narrowed eyes made it quite clear what his opinion was of this suggestion. "We have to go." Thorin said with an air of finality. "Leave him." Balin shook his head sadly, but turned to go with Thorin.

Bilbo stood for a moment looking down at the unconscious elf, chewing his lower lip. "No," he said quietly. "You go on, then. I'll just wait here with him." Vekkad cursed but Nar laughed out loud. Dwalin looked at Thorin with his eyebrows up, a wide grin on his face. The hobbit looked around for his friend. "Ori, could you take a look at him please? See if you can figure out why he hasn't woken up." Thorin turned white, then red, and sputtered a bit. Bilbo knew he was moments away from being berated, but it wouldn't be the first time. Without looking at the leader directly, Bilbo squared his shoulders and said "Thorin, I will not leave someone to die if I can help. That's just not how decent people act." He knew he shouldn't challenge Thorin's leadership directly, but... by the Green Lady, who could just walk off and leave a wounded person to die? Elf, dwarf, hobbit, man, who cared? From the furious glare he could feel burning like a bonfire on the side of his face, it was going to take a while for the prince to forgive this, but Bilbo decided he didn't care. He didn't have an answer to all this courting and One business, and he wasn't sure at any given moment how he felt about any of it, but this he was sure of all the way down to the leathery soles of his hairy feet. Even the most hateful hobbit in the Shire would never leave a wounded person to die. Ori looked uncertain, but after a moment of indecision scampered forward and started examining the elf. Probing fingers in the auburn hair quickly found a large knot on the back of his head.

"Poor lad got knocked out," the young scribe said, "but if the battle was yesterday he's been down too long. He needs a bed and healers, not lying about in a bush." Thorin had clearly had enough. He might not want to embarrass Bilbo publicly, but that didn't extend to the rest of the group. He barked a string of angry Khuzdul, and Ori almost fell over as he backed away quickly from the elf. Bilbo sighed softly and closed his eyes. He really didn't want to fight with Thorin, and he hated being the center of attention like this. Not for the first time, he cursed himself, Gandalf, and all the dwarves ever born for the fact that he had left his smial to come on this wretched adventure. But if a fight was what it took, so be it. Opening his eyes, he turned to Thorin, who was standing there almost vibrating with fury. Before Thorin could say anything, Bilbo stepped up to him, face to face.

"Thorin Oakenshield, you listen to me right now," Bilbo said, reminding himself incongruously of his mother as he put his hands on his hips and drew himself up, eyes flashing, "you're behaving like a child, and I've had quite enough of it! This is a wounded person. You'd save him if he was a dwarf, and I know it!" Thorin's face showed a moment of confusion, but Bilbo plowed on, "What if it was me? Would you save me? I'm not a dwarf either! I suppose if I get hurt you'll just leave me in the nearest bush and keep moving!" Thorin opened his mouth to retort, brows drawn down, but Bilbo bulled ahead. "Let me tell you this, then, Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, since you dwarves like to announce everything in the middle of a bloody group of people! If you can't be bothered to help those that are hurt when you find them, to be even a little compassionate, I'll... I'll give your bead back and go home! I have no interest in even knowing someone that cold-hearted, let alone being courted by them!" As he finished his sentence, Bilbo realized that you could have heard a pin drop. The other dwarves were standing around them open-mouthed. Thorin couldn't have looked any greyer if he had bled out while Bilbo was talking. Perhaps, he thought cautiously, that was a bit too much. The silence stretched and the only sound was Bilbo's heavy breathing. Yes, he decided. Definitely too much.

After what seemed like forever, Thorin finally nodded. "As you say," he said in a low voice. "Balin, Nar, rig a stretcher. Dwalin, Vekkad help them find some poles if you can. Ori, if you can think of a safe way to wake him up, he can tell us where to go. If not, I suppose we can try to find a way to the elves with him somehow." Dwarves scattered. Vekkad stayed for a moment and gaped at Bilbo openly. For the first time, he didn't show any sense of hostility, just astonishment. After a moment, he shook himself and walked away, looking for straight sticks or unbroken spears. Thorin just stood, staring at Bilbo. The hobbit didn't say anything, because he wasn't sure what to say. He knew that he had overstepped, but he also wasn't willing to leave and let the elf just die, which was the only other option. So he just stood and looked back, defiantly if somewhat sheepishly. Within fifteen minutes, two ugly orc spears had been repurposed as stretcher poles, the elf's cloak strung between them, and the elf brought along between Nar and Dwalin. Without much ado, the group headed eastwards.

The group was silent, bringing back memories of the day after Bilbo's ill-fated attempt to reward Thorin for saving him. This time, though, Bilbo felt much more comfortable with it. He knew he was in the right, and after an additional month spent in close quarters with these dwarves, he understood them a lot better. He hoped. Almost certainly. Hoping he hadn't put his foot in it too badly, Bilbo just concentrated on keeping up with the group as they headed into the trees. Was there no end to the drama of dwarves?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, sorry guys, I've been forgetting to put the translations in for all the Khuzdul; my apologies. I will backfill the other chapters after this:
> 
> Azyungel : beloved  
Baruk Khazad : The Axe of the Dwarves (battle cry)  
Ai-ruse! : get in them!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bilbo finds out how badly he has messed things up without meaning to, gets some advice, and tries to fix his mess.

The group marched eastwards into the long shadows cast by the setting sun. Dwalin and Nar continued to carry the elf between them, seeming not to notice the weight at all. Vekkad went in front, trying unsuccessfully to track the group of elves that must have passed this way. Bilbo thought his legs were going to fall off from the steady marching, but he dared not speak. Nobody would look at him, and Thorin still looked grey and old, like he had died when Bilbo wasn't watching. Just as he thought he surely was going to fall over and embarrass himself even further, Thorin raised a hand and the group stopped.

"We will make camp here," Thorin said brusquely. "Ori, tend the elf." He looked over at Bilbo for the first time since their argument, and the pain on his face made Bilbo try to speak but the leader turned away immediately, heading off into the woods. Balin made a campfire without once meeting the hobbit's eyes. The others stood around uncertainly, casting surreptitious glances at Bilbo when they thought he couldn't see them. Dwarves, he was coming to realize, were not only nigh-unbearably dramatic, they were bad at being sneaky. He handed out dried meat and a piece of cram to each of them, for the first time in a long while not even receiving a mumbled thanks or acknowledgement at all. Looking down at the elf on his stretcher, he sighed, wishing that he could give food or water to him. He saved Balin's portion for last, and when he had handed it over, he sat heavily down next to the white-haired adviser and braced himself.

"Balin," he said. The old dwarf looked up and feigned surprise (badly, Bilbo noticed).

"Master Baggins," he said awkwardly, which had the unfortunate consequence of Bilbo rolling his eyes before he got his face under control again.

"It would be grand if we didn't revert to that; call me Bilbo, please." He stopped, trying to collect his thoughts, but Balin smiled cautiously.

"Bilbo, then, of course." The old dwarf looked away, fingers smoothing his cloak over his knees in a nervous gesture Bilbo had seen before when Balin was speaking with Thorin. Do I really make him that uncomfortable? Bilbo wondered. I must have quite put my foot in it.

"Balin... I seem to have made a mess. Everyone is acting like I did something terrible, but... since I'm not a dwarf, I have no idea what it was. If it's not too much to ask," he felt his eyes beginning to tear and he shook his head irritably, "could you please explain to me exactly what sort of mess I've made, so that I can try to fix it?" When he made the comment about not being a dwarf, Balin's astonishment was palpable. When the old adviser looked back over, his eyes were clearer and more compassionate than they had looked all afternoon.

"Mahal's hammer, of course you didn't... oh. Oh my." Bilbo sat and tried not to sniffle as Balin's face went through a series of remarkable changes. Some sort of mental rearrangement was obviously taking place under the bushy white hair, and the hobbit just sat and waited. Finally, his patience was rewarded. "Well, lad," Balin said sadly, "yes, I'm sorry to say you did make a bit of a mess. Even though you couldn't be expected to know the rules of dwarven courting and behavior, even so it's... well. Hmm." All this hemming and hawing was very atypical for the old dwarf, who had proven again and again to be a skilled negotiator and politician. Bilbo's stomach sank even further, which he had thought impossible. "You shamed Thorin publicly. That would be bad enough for any dwarf, especially in a courting situation. If you weren't courting, he'd have fought you immediately. If he weren't a prince, he'd have cut his braids in shame from being rebuked by his One. He can't do that, though, because his shame is Erebor's shame, and that would haunt his kingship. And to complete the set, he can't fight you because you're courting." Balin sat for a moment, staring into the fire, and Bilbo noticed with disgust that the rest of the group were sitting as far away as they could be in the campsite, staring at the two of them talking. Finally the old dwarf spoke again. "Can I ask... it's none of my business but... why did you do it?"

"What do you mean? Yell at Thorin?" Bilbo wished he could explain the bundle of conflicting emotions that he had been feeling for days. If anyone might understand, it would probably be Balin.

"Well, yes and no. Why did you yell at him about this? You chose an elf you didn't even know over your One. To a dwarf, that's... inconceivable." Balin was still looking down. He murmured, "And I'm horribly embarrassed to be talking about this so directly, just so you know. I appreciate your confidence in me, but this is painful. I know you aren't a dwarf, but none of us can so easily overcome our early training."

"Exactly so," Bilbo said, grasping at the comment which proved his point, "that was exactly it. Early training. In the Shire, even the most selfish, wicked hobbit could no more walk away from a wounded person without trying to help than a fish could step out of the brook and go to market. I still can't quite wrap my head around the idea that you all would have just left him there to die." Bilbo shuddered. "And yes, this is painful and awkward to talk about. I appreciate you more than you know that you are willing to discuss it with me. You're a true friend, Balin son of Fundin, and I appreciate it." This was enough to get the old dwarf to look up and smile, though the smile was still a bit sad.

"That sort of kind-heartedness is not in the nature of dwarves, I'm afraid, Bilbo. Or elves, or men for that matter, in my experience. The Shire must be a rich and safe land to be able to be so kind to everyone."

"It is, I suppose. I never thought of it that way, it's just... home. Reading about other cultures is one thing, I've learned in the past few months, but living with them is quite another." The memory of the look on Thorin's face rose up to choke him. Bilbo was so tired and so lonely he decided to throw caution to the wind. "Oh Balin, what am I going to do? I don't know how to make any of this work. Hobbits don't... acknowledge any relationships between two males." Seeing the familiar surprise come over Balin's face was more than Bilbo could deal with at the moment. "I don't want to talk about it, just believe me. Just to be with another male would be seen as deeply shameful, wrong and perverted. I thought the same for years, even though I always felt... well, you know. So I've been wrestling with that in my own mind. Not that I haven't wanted such a thing before, but it was something I never actually faced. And when Thorin asked, and I saw I could have it, it all seemed so overwhelming. And sometimes I'm happy, and sometimes I'm miserable, and I only want to make him happy but every time I turn around he's upsetting me or I'm upsetting him. I'm just..." Bilbo was sniffling now, overwhelmed by misery, "... I don't know what to do about any of it."

For one who claimed dwarves weren't compassionate, Balin did an excellent imitation. "Oh lad," he said softly, "finding your One is misery until it's not. I know all too well." The old dwarf stared into the fire, but this time his expression was more melancholy than uncomfortable. "My Bur was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. I met her in the forges in Erebor when I went to get a proper sword. She threw me out, said I wasn't serious. Five times!" He grinned fondly, and Bilbo thought dazedly that if that type of abuse counted as flirting in a dwarven courtship, maybe he was getting the kind version after all. "I knew when I saw her, of course, and so did she. I'd take her food, and stay and talk, once she let me in the door. She made me this sword," he said proudly, petting his unusually shaped blade. "She came and watched me practice for weeks. Learned my moves like a swordmaster, never said a word. Then one day, she brings me this blade and asks me to court, puts a bead in my hair and offers me the blade on the same day." The old dwarf laughed delightedly. "So shockingly forward! But she knew me well, and there was no way I was passing up that sword. Or her, really. Those were good days. I couldn't wait to marry her."

"Where is she now? I didn't know you were married." Bilbo said in surprise.

"Dead. She fell at Azanulbizar." Balin was smiling but his eyes were like open wounds. "I told her to stay, that we needed smiths in the mountain more than smiths in the army, more than another axe, but she was so proud to march. We wanted to get our old halls back, you see, and the orcs disagreed." The old dwarf gave a shuddering sigh, and Bilbo felt an almost irresistible need to hug him, but he knew it wouldn't be welcome. "Thror's rage and pride cost us dearly. Thorin's brother Frerin fell that day, as did Vili his brother-in-law. My sweet Bur. So many others. All for the sake of halls we could never have entered. Thror didn't stand a chance against Durin's Bane, whatever it is. But we dwarves are a proud lot, stubborn as mules, and we don't bend easily. Mahal made us out of stone, not iron. And when we love, we love once if at all. And when we are hurt," Balin turned and looked at Bilbo full on, "it is hard for us to forgive."

"I see," Bilbo whispered. "All I can do is apologize." Balin nodded.

"He loves you, Bilbo. Remember that. If he didn't, you couldn't hurt him so much. You may think it's too soon, and he may not have spoken, but Thorin, well... I've dealt with the line of Durin for almost three hundred years, four generations now, and I can tell you this: when they commit, they commit absolutely. He fought against it as long as he could. But once he's in, he's all in." Balin's eyes twinkled merrily. "Now, that's not to say that he's not haughty as an elf sometimes, pig-headed, frustratingly thick, or a thousand other uncomplimentary things it's not becoming of me to say. But never doubt his sincerity. Watch what he does more than what he says, and you'll never wonder what he's thinking." Balin's face grew grim. "But you did shame him, and you did it like a dwarf would, in front of everyone. He's going to find that hard to forgive. And it's a tricky knot to untangle protocol-wise, if you don't mind me saying so. If you two work this out, my advice to you is this: never disagree with him like that in public again." Just as Bilbo was beginning to think of how to politely express his determination to always speak his mind, a lightning grin appeared, breaking Balin's grim expression. "In private, though, whip him as you see fit. You would... _will_... make a perfect Royal Consort when you're married. Lady Dis would be proud to have you in the family, even she couldn't have been more fearsome in a rage than you were. You will be good for Thorin. Just always do it behind closed doors." Balin picked up his neglected meal from where he had placed it. "Now I think you have an apology to deliver. Take Ori with you, he's the most self-restrained of all of us and least likely to want to chime in."

"Why on earth would I take someone else?" Bilbo had no idea what he was going to tell Thorin, and to do it in front of an audience was inconceivable. Balin didn't help by laughing.

"As a chaperone, of course. You're still courting." His chuckles followed Bilbo across the camp. Ori was shocked to see Bilbo, but quickly figured out what he was needed for and nodded, standing up from where he had been dripping water into the unconscious elf's mouth with a bit of cloth. He followed along behind Bilbo at a respectful distance. They looked a bit for Thorin, but finally found him just outside of the camp proper, sitting on the bole of a fallen tree. Ori peeled off without a word, taking a seat where he would be unobtrusive but could still see the couple (as if we would get up to anything under the circumstances, Bilbo thought with disgust). Thorin looked up at him as he walked over, and his face was like a locked box.

"Thorin, we should talk," Bilbo said, but as soon as he spoke, Thorin stood, facing the hobbit and squaring himself up like he was about to be stabbed.

"Have you come to give back your bead, then? Thank you for at least doing that in private." Just the brittle, exhausted tone of his voice told Bilbo how stressful the prince had found the afternoon, and yet another rush of misery swept over the hobbit at the thought that this was his fault.

"No, Thorin, I haven't come to give the bead back. I don't want to end our courtship." Bilbo sat dejectedly on the log near Thorin. "I've come to apologize, if you will let me."

"Apolo..." Thorin's face went slack, then tensed into fury. "Am I to be toyed with, then? You berate me like a wayward child in front of our whole company, tell me how little you value our courtship, choose a stranger over me, and an elf at that, then expect to apologize?" His voice was louder than Bilbo would like, but he thought it only fair. Thorin's face was beet red with anger, and he was breathing like a bellows, fists clenched. Despite this, Bilbo didn't feel any sense of threat, just pain that he had caused this pain in the one he least wanted to hurt. "What next? Will you cut my beard? Shackle me like a prisoner? Am I to..." Alright, Bilbo thought, there's a limit.

"Thorin, that's enough." He said firmly. "I'm very sorry for saying those things in public. I know now that it was wrong. I'm not a dwarf, Thorin. I don't know all these rules like everyone else." There was no indication that his words had sunk in, though. Thorin stood, staring off into space for a moment as though Bilbo hadn't spoken, then spoke in a low, furious voice.

"I would kill anyone else who said such things to me." His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. "The Line of Durin cannot be disrespected like that. To say things like that to me is to say them to the Kingdom of Erebor." Bilbo thought this was getting out of hand rather quickly.

"Thorin, look at me. I'm not speaking to the Kingdom of Erebor, or the Line of Durin, or Prince Thorin, I'm talking to Thorin the person, to my One, not the throne. Can you come sit and talk to me, just Thorin and Bilbo? I'm not a kingdom you have to negotiate some treaty with or go to war, I'm just a hobbit." Dark hair and braids swung as he shook his head, seemingly more in confusion than negation.

"There is no difference. I am both, always. The prince and the person cannot be separated." Bilbo almost gave up and went back to camp at that moment, if he hadn't seen how much misery there was in his intended's face and posture. He reached up and boldly grabbed Thorin's hand, pulling him gently towards the log. In spite of his fury, the dwarf allowed himself to be guided to a seat.

"There is a difference, Thorin. There is. One is just a role, but the other is my future husband." This was the first time he had actually said 'future husband', and it felt strange in his mouth. "I don't want to be courted by the Kingdom of Erebor, but I rather like being courted by Thorin." Blushing furiously to the tips of his ears, he said "Because Thorin's kisses are amazing." That at least seemed to get through. Thorin looked over with a stunned expression, then barked a laugh in spite of himself. He immediately looked irritated, presumably upset that he had laughed. Bilbo wanted to laugh as well, desperately wanted to, but he knew it would be taken amiss.

"You are the most infuriating creature," Thorin whispered softly. "I have spent all day so angry at you I wanted nothing more than to berate you and now you make me laugh." He sat for a moment, looking exhausted but finally without so much tension in his body. "You hurt me today, _azyungel_. You hurt me terribly. The thought that you value some stranger, let alone one of the filthy elves, over me..." Dark blue eyes turned towards Bilbo, whose heart shattered to see them so full of pain. "How could you do such a thing?"

"Oh Thorin..." Bilbo sighed. "It was all a misunderstanding. I didn't choose anyone over you, not like that. It's not about value. I'm so sorry, so terribly sorry." Now his eyes were welling up, damn it all. Bilbo felt he had cried more in this trip than he had in the past thirty years, and he hated it. "I'm not a dwarf, Thorin. I'm a hobbit. In the Shire, nobody would dream of leaving another person to die. Maybe we're too kind-hearted, maybe we're soft, but it's the way I was raised. I can't be otherwise. I'm probably the first hobbit in a long time to kill something in a battle; I know those goblins were trying to kill us, but I still hate that I killed them." Tears were running down his face. "It's just who I am. But I didn't mean to... to hurt you... and I... I'm... s-s-sorry." He put his face in his hands, sobbing, and felt a tentative touch on his shoulder as Thorin put an arm around him.

"Oh Bilbo, _azyungel_, it kills me to see you weep. Ssh," Thorin leaned in, and Ori made a quiet noise. The prince's almost soundless chuckle let Bilbo know that he had forgotten the presence of the chaperone. "You are not a dwarf, it's true. And I had not thought of how different our cultures were, so... I forgive you this time. But now that you know, you must promise me that you will never do this again." Bilbo sniffled and looked up, and Thorin's face was earnest. "I cannot forgive you if you shame me again publicly, because whether you mean it that way or not, it will be seen as a disgrace to the crown. My hands will be tied. I will not be allowed to forgive you."

"I won't," Bilbo choked out. "Not in public. I see the problem clearly now." He stiffened. "But if we are to truly wed, in private you will listen to me and you will honor my opinion and wishes where you can, or else we will have serious problems." Thorin nodded.

"In private, we can fight like gamecocks if we must, though I never wish it to be so, but in public we must present a united front. Much of the court life of dwarves is public spectacle, and Erebor's favorite sport is gossip. Now I must think about how to untangle this knot with the others." His eyes cut to Bilbo. "I must punish you, I'm afraid. I'm sorry in advance, but there must be some sort of public rebuke for your actions." he hung his head, dark hair hiding his face, braids dangling. Bilbo saw his bead glinting in the moonlight, and thought it ironic that something so small should mean so much to so many people. The dark-haired dwarf sighed. "I hate the thought of being harsh to you, truly."

Bilbo shuddered at the thought of what such punishments might entail, but he trusted Thorin not to hurt him. He supposed it was only fair to take his medicine. "I wish there was some way to know how to avoid making messes like this," Bilbo said tiredly. "It seems like everything I do is the wrong thing, everything I say is taken out of context..." Thorin laughed delightedly, almost shocking Bilbo into falling but a strong arm caught him effortlessly.

"I have the perfect idea," Thorin said, grinning wickedly. Bilbo was stunned at the transformation in the dwarf, from the bitter, angry person he came to apologize to half an hour ago to this smiling, exciting partner who took his breath away. This, he thought to himself, this is the real Thorin, that I am very rapidly becoming quite attached to. The prince is a challenge to deal with, but this Thorin... this one made Bilbo's mouth feel dry. "But we also need to signal the end of our disagreement. I had intended to do this when we returned to a place where I could make your gifts myself, but if I give you my first courting gift and you accept it, it will be a strong symbol that our fight is resolved." Thorin looked up, uncharacteristically uncertain. "Would you accept a courting gift from me? It's awfully early, but..."

"Yes," Bilbo smiled. Anything to resolve this awful tension. "I don't really want any more weapons or armor, Thorin, but yes, I am glad to be courting you and would have no other. I'll take any gift from you to show that." Ori sniffled softly and Bilbo realized that he had been perhaps a little louder than he meant to, but he trusted the young scribe to keep silent about anything he had heard. "Do I get another of those kisses when you do?" He asked cheekily, just to see the devilish grin appear on Thorin's face. He wasn't disappointed.

"It's... possible, I suppose," Thorin responded teasingly. He leaned over and whispered "For practice," then pressed his lips to Bilbo. Ori's loud throat clearing was irritating, true, but Bilbo was swept away once again by the beard against his face and those lips and oh Green Lady... too soon it was over, but he felt warm and tingling down to the tips of his toes. Thorin appeared appropriately wrecked as well, so that was a good step. Bilbo decided they might as well go and make their announcement, and he would just try not to think about this 'punishment' too much. He trusted Thorin, he reminded himself. Then he reminded himself again. Ori tagging along behind them, doe-eyed now, they approached the group where they sat around the fire. The elf looked dead already, and Bilbo wondered in passing if all this was wasted effort after all. Just the thought that he had caused all these problems for someone who might very well die anyway was... still the right thing to do, he knew, but seemed unfair somehow.

Thorin and Bilbo stood side by side as they had before (and Yavanna bless him, had it only been the night before?) and Thorin said "All is well. Bilbo has agreed to accept my judgment as the wronged party, and as prince." This seemed a bit shocking; did I accept that? Bilbo asked himself. "Here is the punishment I decree: Bilbo Baggins will undergo protocol training with Balin, son of Fundin, until such time as Balin pronounces him fit to serve as Consort (should that day come)." The dwarves sitting around the fire mumbled and looked at each other, but Balin was grinning ear to ear like Thorin had just pulled a particularly clever trick. "This is my judgment. If any here dispute it, or think it unjust, I will fight to defend it. Not as Prince of Erebor with the _Baruk Dainul_, but simply as Thorin with a plain sword so there is no unfair advantage. Does anyone dispute this sentence?" A tense moment passed, but nobody even looked up. Thorin nodded soberly, and Bilbo realized from the poorly hidden relief that he really hadn't been sure that would work. Luckily, it had. The hobbit made a promise to himself to really study with Balin to avoid any future conflicts that might spur Thorin into a duel on his behalf.

"Well spoken, my prince," Balin said. "I will be honored to teach the hobbit what he needs to know." Thorin nodded to him regally.

"As a sign and pledge of our reconciliation, I offer my first courting gift." Thorin pulled out the elven sword that Bilbo had found under the bone pile in the troll cave. It was almost as long as he was tall, and he felt a fool accepting it, but he had promised. He smiled gamely as Thorin passed the giant sword to him. "I, Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, offer to you Bilbo Baggins, son of Bungo Baggins of the Shire, this sword, that it may ever keep your enemies at bay, that it shall defend you from all who would threaten you, and that it may always be a symbol of my protection of you, your life, and our life together."

"I accept this sword," Bilbo said, then wondered what else he was supposed to say. His hands tingled unpleasantly at the contact with the highly magical sword. Thorin smiled at him, though, and that made Bilbo speak from his heart. "I will always be ready to defend you from your enemies." Thorin's smile widened, and Balin nodded. He watched as Thorin leaned closer, lips already tingling with anticipation, and then realized that someone he didn't recognize was standing behind Thorin.

"_Mae govannen_, travelers," came the carrying voice of a tall blond elf, standing at the edge of their camp. Archers melted out of the darkness in a circle around them, and the dwarves leaped up, seizing weapons. "Who would like to explain why you are carrying one of our wounded soldiers, and where he is being taken?" The elf smiled, though his blue eyes remained watchful. "No hurry, if you're in the middle of something, though. I can wait."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger, folks. I'm an ass :)
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Azyungel - beloved  
Baruk Dainul - Axe of Dain  
mae govannen - Sindarin greeting


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the dwarves are surprised by elves (as are some of the readers *grin*), they are taken to a comfortable place to spend the night, and Thorin and Bilbo finally get a bit of quality time to make up for the interrupted ceremony.

Thorin glared at the elf, then stared closely at him. "I thought for a moment you were Prince Legolas," he said, "but I don't know you after all."

"No, you do not, though how curious that you might recognize our prince," came the cool response, and the elf gestured as one of his troops knelt down at the side of the unconscious form on the pallet. "I suppose we might look alike to a dwarf or man, as both of us share the Sindari complexion. I am Ciraen, Warden of the Northern Forest, and would very much like to know why you are here. With, I might add, one of my soldiers."

Bilbo, forgetting himself, started to speak. "Well, I, uh... he was..." before Balin smoothly interposed himself.

"Well met, Warden Ciraen! Balin, son of Fundin at your service. We found your soldier quite by accident in a battlefield some hours west of here a short distance from the Anduin. He had lain concealed, but once found we realized that he yet lived and we wished to bring him back to his kinsmen." Smiling his best avuncular smile through his long white beard, Balin was the very picture of a kindly old dwarf. Bilbo admired this story in spite of himself, especially considering how much got left out while still telling the absolute truth. Such a talent for spinning sweet stories from ugly events would have done the Thain proud.

"Is that so?" Ciraen looked highly dubious of the story. "How... unusual. We thank you for so doing, of course. Does anyone know this elf?" He called out to his troops, and they came in, lowering their weapons. At a sign from Thorin, the companions lowered theirs as well, though Vekkad made a point to look horrified that elves were within touching distance. The soldiers trooped past, looking down, and one of them called out.

"Aye," she said. "This is Salin, he and his sister Varin were in the group that fought the raiders. She was frantic this morning, fearing he was captive or worse. She will be beside herself with joy to know that he yet lives..." The soldier looked closely at him. "He does yet live, does he not?" Ori stepped up and nodded shyly.

"Yes," he said, "I've been giving him water as best I could, but he needs proper medical care, not field conditions," Ori said earnestly. He looked very young at that moment, but nobody could dispute his conclusions. While he was speaking, Ciraen was examining Thorin closely with a puzzled expression, but comprehension washed over his face at the sight of the embroidered raven.

"Prince Thorin! My apologies for not recognizing you sooner," the elf said smoothly, provoking what Bilbo found to be a truly legendary scowl from Thorin. "That livery is unmistakeable, I should have known. But what has become of the rest of your forces?" Glancing around at the faces of the party, Ciraen stared with apparent shock. "By the Moon, a _perian_!" He stared for a moment at Bilbo, then shook his head. "My apologies, good prince; where are the others of your party? This is a dangerous place to get separated, the orcs are swarming near the mountains."

"None were separated; we are as you see us, Warden," Thorin said shortly. "We are on our way from the Blue Mountains to our home, and seek haste over ceremony and complicated travel." Ciraen looked from Thorin to Balin to Bilbo, took in the rest of the camp, and seemed dubious. After a few moments, he appeared to come to a decision.

"Whatever else, this elf must be taken to receive doctoring, and the rest of you must come as well. Gather your things, you will be my guests." Forestalling Thorin's objections, Ciraen smiled and said "To stay here would be both unsafe and unwise. Please, Prince Thorin, I insist." Bilbo could tell from the look on Thorin and Balin's faces that the line between guest and prisoner was hair-thin, but wasn't sure what any of them could do about it. Ciraen's face was pleasant, but there was a hardness around the jawline that made Bilbo suspect that this was an elf who was not prepared to be contradicted. And with that, everyone was chivvied into motion. Bilbo picked up his pack quickly, being thankful that he hadn't unpacked due to all the events of the night, and tried to make ready. He had no idea what to do with the huge sword that he had just been gifted, eventually strapping it haphazardly to his pack. Well, he snorted, I must look a right buffoon wandering around like this, but none of the elves seemed to be amused. The group formed up, two soldiers lifted the stretcher between them and the elves surrounding the dwarves for 'protection', and off they went.

Some elvish magic seemed to be in use, but it was only a faint hint to Bilbo's senses. Of course, the elvish sword on his back was the magical equivalent of a shout in his ear, and the Axe of Dain on Thorin's back had been a steady burning presence ever since he fetched it from the cave, so the hobbit knew his chances of even noticing anything quieter than that magic-wise were low. He did notice that the stars seemed to shift oddly as they moved, and the trees that were there when he looked up seemed to change from step to step. Within an hour, they were approaching a fortified camp. It was hardly noticeable until they were practically in it; then the welcome sight of campfires and resting places appeared as if summoned. Bilbo thought it seemed oddly busy considering that it must be nearing midnight. Whispers went around the camp along with curious glances. Suddenly there was a loud cry, a female elf with auburn hair ran to the stretcher.

"Salin!" she cried, hovering as though she wanted to grab the unconscious elf but not quite daring to do so. She turned to Ciraen showing much more emotion than Bilbo had ever seen an elf display before. "My lord... where did you find him? Is he...?" Ciraen seemed displeased that she had approached the group, but attempted to calm her fears.

"Peace, soldier. Our friends here," a lazy wave encompassed the dwarves and Bilbo, "found him and brought him back to us. We are taking him to the healers. If the stars are kind, he shall be fine." She gazed at them dubiously, but nodded. Looking closely at her and the elf on the stretcher, Bilbo wondered if they were twins; other than being different sex, they were practically identical.

"My thanks, noble ones. I... that is to say, my family is in your debt. I am Varin, daughter of Celys; I can never repay your gift of returning my brother to me." She bowed and looked as though she wished to continue speaking, but Ciraen gave a curt gesture and she bowed and withdrew. Quickly enough, the group was brought to a small two-room structure and led inside as the stretcher headed off in a different direction, presumably to the healers. Inside, candles set in lanterns revealed a table with chairs and four bunk beds; an open doorway led to another room which seemed to contain four more beds and another table. The rooms were obviously a barracks, cleared with haste for the party. Nar dropped his pack with a sigh and sat in one of the too-tall chairs, but Vekkad looked around at the furniture and elves with open disgust. Ori seemed about to burst with the effort not to ask questions. Standing in the door flanked by guards, Ciraen turned to them with a wide smile that Bilbo somehow didn't trust.

"I apologize for the lack of luxury, Prince Thorin, but this is a camp of war, and but newly built at that. We can at least put a roof over your head, and the herbs in the candles will keep biting insects away. I shall have food brought to you, and bedding, so that you will at least stay as comfortably as my officers and myself." Ciraen looked around at the faces of the dwarves, then at Bilbo. "We shall see what the morrow brings. Until then."

"Wait." Thorin spoke, and Bilbo thought it sounded a bit harsh. "We thank you for your hospitality, Warden, but we must be on our way tomorrow. It is urgent we reach Erebor as soon as possible." Ciraen smiled, but the expression never seemed to touch his eyes. Bilbo thought a bit of wheel-greasing might not go amiss. He put a silly expression on his face and did his best impression of an earnest fool.

"Yes," he burst in loudly, "and if we could get some additional food for our journey, that would be helpful as well!" Thorin looked astonished at the interruption, but Balin grinned into his beard. Ciraen laughed out loud, and it sounded more heartfelt than the smile had looked. "We didn't seem to bring enough," Bilbo prattled on, acting the part of a silly faunt, "and it's hard enough foraging without orcs interrupting! I did manage to find some lovely..." Ciraen laughed again.

"Peace, Master _perian_, I promise I shall have proper food delivered. As to supplies for your journey, we shall see what we can spare. For now, it has been a long day for us, and I'm sure for you as well. I bid a good evening to you all, rest well and I will see you on the morrow." He went out smiling, but Bilbo was close enough to the door to see the kind expression slip off his face as soon as he turned. As Ciraen was passing through the door he gave low instructions in Sindarin to the guards, then the door closed and they were left alone. Thorin sighed deeply and slumped into one of the chairs, bracing his head in his hands at the table. Bilbo sidled over next to him, leaning in close as though to kiss him despite Balin's obvious monitoring of their interaction.

"Thorin," he said softly. "They are sending word to the elf-king that we are here before they intend to let us go. It will be at least three days before word can reach the royal halls and get back to us." Thorin looked up sharply.

"How do you know this?" he asked in a similar whisper.

"It is what Ciraen told the guards." Thorin gave him an inquisitive look. "I can speak Sindarin, and they don't know that." Bilbo said, smiling wickedly. Thorin snorted quietly with muffled laughter.

"You are a source of constant surprises, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire." He looked as though he was about to say more, but there was a knock and the door was flung open to reveal a procession of elves carrying food and bedding. There was fresh white bread still steaming from the oven which smelled amazing, a hearty beef stew in a rich broth, and some sort of sharp white cheese which Bilbo thought was quite the loveliest thing he had tasted in months. The meal was accompanied by tankards containing some sort of elvish beverage, which looked like water but which had a sharp citrus taste with a hint of sweetness to it. As soon as the food had been set on the tables and each cot had received a blanket, the elves bowed and left and the party rushed the table despite the late hour. Bilbo loaded a plate and ended up sitting next to Thorin again, glancing over at him and occasionally meeting his eyes as they ate. Finally, Thorin pushed his plate aside. The others were sitting in the other room, except for a softly snoring Nar who had barely eaten but taken a cot in the room with Bilbo and Thorin and turned his back to the room. The dwarven leader stood, stretched, and then sat on a cot near the table. Bilbo looked over at him and thought for a moment then joined him on the bed. The smile he got from Thorin warmed his heart just as the warmth radiating from the dwarf warmed his side. "It is late," Thorin said softly, "and we should sleep. But something you said when we spoke earlier tonight has stuck with me, _azyungel_."

Bilbo felt his usual flustered reaction to being this close to Thorin but focused on the words being spoken. "Oh?" he asked, keeping a neutral smile on his face.

"You said you weren't interested in being courted by Thorin the prince, but by Thorin the person." Blue eyes made Bilbo feel almost pierced by the look they contained, so full of sweetness and sorrow. "You are the only person I have ever heard say such a thing. It has been... quite a long time since I remembered that there might be a difference." Thorin reached out almost shyly, taking Bilbo's hand and running a thumb along the back of his hand. "Thank you for that."

"Thorin..." Bilbo sighed. "I meant every word of it. I don't know anything about kingdoms and politics and gold, at least beyond the histories I've read." Bilbo remembered Thorin's earlier gesture of affection, so he raised their linked hands and kissed the dwarf's knuckles. The dry skin felt normal to his lips but somehow brought a warmth to his heart. Ah, he thought in a sudden burst of understanding, that's why he does that. "I feel like I know Thorin the prince reasonably well from traveling with him. I can tolerate him... even admire him. But he's a bit overwhelming, to be honest, and I don't even know what to talk to him about. Who I do want to know better, who my heart wants to know, is just Thorin. He's shy, but I've seen him from time to time." Bilbo grinned over at the melancholy dwarf who was currently staring at him like the hobbit had just hung the Sun in the sky. "He usually comes out when nobody else is around. I miss him when he hides away... he's quite charming, you know. He tells me the nicest things, he kisses my hand, he talks to me about rocks..." Most uncharacteristically Thorin actually flushed and ducked his head, which made Bilbo giggle. "I find him fascinating, even captivating. I very much want to know him better. I worry about him, though. I get the feeling that he's sad and spends a lot of time alone, and I don't want him to feel alone, that Thorin."

The dark-haired dwarf looked over with eyes shining. "He doesn't ever feel alone when you are present, _azyungel_. Truly, you are the first thing to make him want to come out from behind the prince in... decades, it would seem." Bilbo felt his heart lurch. Thorin gave that crooked half-smile that turned the hobbit's mind to mush and said "I wish... Mahal's hammer, I wish we were in Erebor. I want to sit and talk to you in a proper room, not some filthy elvish hovel. I want to hear about you, your likes and dislikes, your wants, your hopes, your life. I want to find what makes your heart full, and give you that and more. I would empty the treasury of Erebor to bring you joy, my heart." Bilbo felt like he was falling, despite being firmly seated on the bed. He should have known better than to think that his feeble attempt at flirtation wouldn't be topped a thousand times over by Thorin's knack of leaving him breathless. Bilbo had always thought of himself as being a bit staid... if he was being particularly hard on himself, he might use terms like 'stick in the mud'. Never in his entire life did he ever imagine that anyone would say things like this to him; even less did he imagine that he would be receptive to such things being said to him; and the idea that it would be a dwarf, and a male dwarf at that... inconceivable. Not, he added to himself wryly, that Thorin's words and voice didn't make his pants far too tight and his nerves jangle with desire. Perhaps not so inconceivable as all that, he supposed.

"Y... yes," Bilbo stammered, "those are exactly the things I want to tell you and hear from you in turn. I would like that very much." He glanced up at Thorin from under his brows. "In the Shire, when a couple is courting, they walk together, and hold hands, speaking of everything and nothing, getting to know each other in a leisurely way. I would like that. I want to cook for you, properly, not over a campfire. We have had little time for such things, but..." Thorin's eyes glowed in the candlelight and Bilbo's pulse raced. "I want to," Bilbo hesitated and felt himself blushing to the tips of his ears, "feed you." The hobbit was embarrassed at how his voice rasped on those last words. In spite of himself, he imagined making his dwarven intended some of the sweet little dainties his mother had taught him to make, visualizing the sensation of Thorin's lips taking bites from his fingers. It was a uniquely hobbitish fantasy he knew, it might make Thorin laugh to know about it, but he knew down to the tips of his furry toes that he would do his best to make it happen if the opportunity presented itself. Thorin's eyebrows quirked up and the devilish smile reappeared.

"Feed me... I see. I forgot that you said that food and drink are important in the Shire. It sounds like they are very important indeed. I wish now I had taken that plate of food in the Shire." Bilbo stiffened and would have drawn away at the memory of that miserable night, but Thorin shifted and leaned sideways slowly into Bilbo, pressing the length of his side against the hobbit while staring into his eyes. "Tell me, my heart... Are there special foods in the Shire for lovers?" Thorin asked in a dark, silky voice, his baritone rumble almost purring in his chest. Bilbo froze, bad memories forgotten, staring at the dark-haired dwarf as though hypnotized. "Would you make me such a meal, and feed me bite by bite with your own hands?" Bilbo nodded slowly, breath catching in his throat. How did this dwarf know...? "Or would you just fix me a plate of sticky little pastries? Would they drip with honey? Would I lick the sweetness from your fingers as you fed me each little tidbit?" Bilbo was panting now as he nodded again; part of him wondered with a twinge of jealousy just how much experience Thorin had with other lovers, to pick up on what should have been an innocent comment so quickly! "Would you kiss me, and taste it on my lips, my heart?" The hobbit swayed, imagining tasting a Thorin with honey-covered lips and gave a breathless sigh that was at least half a whimper. 

"Yavanna's grace, Thorin, the things you say!" Bilbo exclaimed breathily. He attempted to fight his reaction down, knowing he must be completely transparent to the knowing blue eyes watching him from so close by. He looked away, fighting for composure. His heart was pounding as though he had run halfway through Hobbiton, and the room felt much warmer than it had when he sat down. 

"You know..." came Thorin's gentle murmur next to his ear. The feeling of breath on his ear almost drove Bilbo mad. "... since you have accepted my first gift, it is permissible for us to kiss occasionally." Green Lady of All, Bilbo thought to himself, I think I might die if he keeps talking. Or make a mess of my pants. And then die. Death will definitely be involved. "If you don't think me too forward for saying so... I know our courtship has been swift, so if you would prefer to wait, I unders..." Bilbo turned back and Thorin's face was right there. Before he even thought, his lips pressed through the dark beard to soft, chapped lips that didn't taste of honey but of sharp cheese and citrus drinks and dwarf. I could get drunk on this, he thought muzzily, tasting Thorin's mouth on his own. After a moment of shock, he felt Thorin kissing back, pressing his lips against Bilbo, tongue gently teasing, strong white teeth nibbling at the hobbit's lower lip. Close on the heels of his earlier thought, all Bilbo could think was I _am_ drunk on this, as the room started whirling around him. Thorin's breath seemed to catch as well, and the tiny part of Bilbo that was managing to pay attention was glad he wasn't the only one feeling the effects of this. After what felt like both forever and no time at all, Thorin pulled back, eyes blown and almost black with desire. When he looked at Bilbo and whispered "You taste sweeter than honey pastries already, _azyungel_," Bilbo thought his heart would leap out of his chest. Really, he thought desperately, this is quite enough scandal for anyone! At that precise moment, he realized that Balin had been sitting in the other room watching this entire torrid encounter with an amused look on his face. Blast, bother, and confusticate nosey dwarves, he thought in horrified embarrassment. He knew he must stiffened uncomfortably, because Thorin quickly realized that the mood had shifted. The dwarf cleared his throat, then murmured "Perhaps that can make up for the missed kiss at the campfire, my heart. We should get some sleep." Bilbo nodded, feeling bashful now, and slipped off of the cot they were sitting on to move to the next one in the row.

Rolling himself up in his blanket, Bilbo's head was whirling. He had no idea what tomorrow would bring, or if they would end up stuck with the elves indefinitely, but as he fell asleep the last sound that came to his ears was Thorin sighing softly, and the hobbit realized he was in far over his head and sinking fast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> perian : hobbit (Sindarin)  
azyungel : beloved


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which more food is had, the song of Narvi is at least summarized, and Ciraen finds out who has the upper hand after all

The first indication that Bilbo had that the morning had arrived was the sound of the door being flung open and food brought in by another elven procession similar to the one of the previous night. Sun streamed in the open door, showing that it was midmorning already; the windowless rooms they were in hid the time. Dwarves leapt from their cots, grabbing for weapons, but once everyone realized that there was no threat the group subsided into grumbling and stirring about preparing to eat. This morning's meal was more of the white bread, toasted this time, complete with butter, jam, and some sort of pie or tart made with eggs and vegetables that Bilbo thought would have graced any farm table in the Shire. Well, he smiled to himself, regardless of when and even if they intend to let us go, we can't claim that they are disinclined to feed us. As he went to get breakfast, he noticed Thorin sitting on the edge of his cot, brooding. Bilbo smiled to himself and got a second plate without a word. He filled it with food and took it to his intended, setting it beside Thorin on his bed and getting a glance and smile in return. Well, the hobbit smiled to himself, that's the first time I've ever been able to get a pleasant reaction from a broody Thorin! Just as he was mustering up his courage to get up from his own cot and go sit next to the handsome dwarf while he ate (and hadn't last night's racy conversation about feeding Thorin left him feeling particularly twitchy where his intended and food intersected!) Thorin took up the plate. Sadly, he barely took two mouthfuls of food before he stood and strode purposefully over to where Balin sat at the table in the other room. The two of them put their heads together, muttering.

Bilbo was so caught up in watching Thorin that he was badly startled when someone flopped down on the bed next to him. He looked over to see Ori smiling at him and stammered out "Oh, good morning! You surprised me."

"I can't say I'm shocked. I could tell you had other things on your mind," Ori said with a sidelong look, eyebrows twitching. Bilbo felt the flush go over him from the base of his neck to the very tips of his ears.

"Ori!" he fussed, "For people with so many rules and ideas about what can and can't be said and when, you dwarves are certainly forward when you want to be!" Ori's teasing expression morphed into a full blown smile at this.

"We can be, true enough. But Balin will be putting you through your lessons on what shouldn't be said and why soon, and it will make more sense." The young scribe chuckled softly. "As much sense as any of it makes, I suppose. I have always suspected that at least some of the rules we have were made up out of boredom more than any sense." Bilbo laughed out loud at that sentiment, because hadn't he just felt the same in the Shire! It seemed some things were constant across cultures, he figured. Thinking of things across cultures, Bilbo mustered up his courage to ask the young scribe a question he had been pondering for some time.

"Ori..." Bilbo glanced down at his hands. "Are there other dwarves that have found their... their One where it isn't a dwarf? I just... I worry sometimes that this is all a mistake," he said quietly. The hobbit was a little startled at his own words; he hadn't meant to say it quite like that, but his mouth seemed to have other ideas.

"Ah," the dwarf said. "Well, take it from me, you needn't worry about such things. No dwarf would be mistaken about something like that, nor would they dare to speak unless they were sure. And for another, yes, in fact there has been a famous case where a dwarf found his One in another race. It's actually one of our greatest love stories." Ori sat back and looked at Bilbo. "Have you heard the story of Narvi and Celenae?" Bilbo shook his head slowly, racking his brain. The name 'Celenae' sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it. Bilbo glanced at Thorin, still deep in conversation with Balin, and then looked back inquiringly at Ori. The young dwarf smiled fondly, took a deep breath, and began to speak.

"In the Second Age of the World," Ori began, "in the halls of Khazad-Dum beneath the Misty Mountains, a master smith there was, hight Narvi. He was honored by all, but by none so much as by the second coming of Durin, at that time King and lord of Khazad-Dum. Narvi's skill was unsurpassed; even his smallest works were legends across the Seven Clans. His armor could not be broken by force or guile, his swords never rusted, his blades took no notch even swung against stone." The young scholar stopped, and grinned at Bilbo. "I'm trying to summarize from the song, because otherwise this will get pretty long... the whole song takes several hours to sing properly, and usually requires more than three cantors." The hobbit smiled back, and Ori continued. "None suspected from the flawless craft of his hands that Narvi's heart contained a secret sorrow. He was alone, and hated his aloneness, but in all the greatest hall of the dwarves that ever was or ever should be, he had found no One. In his craft, as apprentice, journeyman and master, he had walked the halls of Khazad-Dum from the pinnacle of the Long Stair to the deeps of the mines beneath Gabilgathol, many thousands of dwarves had he seen, but none there was that stirred his heart.

"A time there was when elves of Eregion to the west and their ruling queen desired that trade increase with Khazad-Dum, trading all sorts of soft stuffs and food for the work of the deep halls. Now the elves had but lately come visiting in Durin's halls, and friends they were in that time, the folk of Eregion called Hollin and the dwarves of Khazad-Dum, so King Durin and his craftlords went to visit them in their groves. Even beneath the sky of Eregion walked Durin reborn, and left his own halls for the first time in memory, to visit with Galadriel and Celeborn her consort. A smith they had of their royal line named Celebrimbor, mighty in craft, nigh unto Narvi in skill despite being an elf. And the wish was that together elf and dwarf should forge a new gate, a great gate, for ease of traffic between the kingdoms and in token of the peace and alliance between these two peoples. Such was the agreement between the second Durin and Galadriel, queen of elves.

"Narvi Master-Smith came with the King to the court of the elves, set in a bowl of white marble, floored with grass and radiant with sun. He looked upon the court of the Queen, and known to him was the shining face of Celebrimbor elf-smith, but beside him was one unknown: an elf-maid, Celebrimbor's daughter Celenae. And when the eye of Narvi fell upon this she-elf, his heart gave a great shout, like an army seeing its king ride forth, and he knew with all his soul that this was his One. Cruel did Narvi deem his fate, and harsh were his thoughts in that meeting! Bitter the tears that fell in secret that night and many others from the eyes of Narvi Lord of Smiths! Elves were not hated in Khazad-Dum, but they were not loved, and no dwarf had wed an elf in all the long years of the world, nor ever sought to do so. The smith fought his heart as a dwarf lord would fight a dragon, battling high and low, thinking of naught else, until his forge grew cold from neglect and his tools grew heavy in his hands. But in the end, even Narvi Truehand was not warrior enough to defeat his own heart, and in the deeps of the night he cried and sued for mercy from love's cruel whips.

"Now the forge grew hot again, and Narvi's skill awoke. What gift could he make, what symbol forge, to overcome such eons of custom and disdain as those preventing elf and dwarf from joining? And these were the gifts of Narvi Master-Smith before his courting: a net he made, of truesilver woven with shining white gems, for holding bright golden hair that never felt braid nor bead. A puzzlebox he made, of consummate skill, all seven noble types of metal used therein, where clever fingers unlocking seven locks should reveal the innermost compartment, with a gleaming gem perfect cut that had seven colors glowing within it. And last, a bird he forged of purest gold that sat upon a branch leafed in emerald and jade, and the eyes of the bird were of diamond, and each feather wrought to the utmost, and at a touch, the bird would hop upon the branch and sing a song of such purity that the heart would weep to hear it. And these were the gifts of Narvi Truehand, made to catch the eye of Celenae, the One of his heart.

"While these gifts were a-making, Narvi worked also in adamant and steel to forge the western gates. Thin and strong these gates were forged, and no ram might breach them nor weapon dent them, yet balanced they were to the weight of a hair, that even a child should thrust them open or shut, such was the skill of Narvi. And when they were done in their time, forth he went with Celebrimbor smith of Eregion to set the magics upon them. Magics of the dwarves set those gates strong and unbreachable, and magics of the elves opened and closed them. Three days and three nights they worked, together at times and other times each at their own, setting runes of mithril and star-silver on the doors, until at the end the gates were finished. Celebrimbor fell upon the spot, overcome by tiredness, but Narvi felt his love driving him onward, and in that time when the elf-smith slept he finished his final gift. Though he was soul-weary from work and from suffering, Narvi put upon himself his finest raiment and went forth into Hollin to wait upon the father of his desired.

"Great were the gifts Mahal gave to Narvi Gatewright, in skill and in knowledge, but greatest perhaps was in one stroke of fortune. For Celebrimbor, proud elf-smith, was so overjoyed by the work they had done together that he greeted his fellow smith thus: together, friend, we have made a wonder which shall last to the ends of Arda! If ever you wished ought of me, ask, I shall not deny you! And this was the gift of Mahal. Narvi drew up his courage, and asked Celebrimbor then for permission to court his daughter, for he knew the customs of elves were not as civilized as those of dwarves, and with elves the parents determine the fitness of the suitor. Celebrimbor was full wroth, and many harsh words were spoken between those two, but Narvi bore on through the storm, and at his third request, permission was given thus: speak then, and if she will have you, so be it. But if she will not, most insolent of the _Naugrim_ (for so the elves call us when they seek to mock us), then I would that you never be seen by me or mine again. For my daughter is a treasure to me more valuable than any craft I know, and she is not for such as you. And Narvi assented, being granted his wish, but long years it was before Narvi and Celebrimbor could share a room in peace from the insults spoken at that time.

"Long the chase, and long the flight, between these lovers, elf and dwarf! Thrice in three months, Narvi asked, and received no answer to the first nor to the second asking, neither yea nor nay. And with each asking, he gave a gift. The first gift was given, and the jeweled net was seen as curious and lovely, but of little interest, and no answer was returned. The second gift was given, and though the box was thought passing clever, the fascination passed from it once its mysteries were solved and it sat open and forgotten, and no answer was returned, though for a while Narvi thought she might speak. But the third gift... the bird was the marvel of Celenae's eye, and she kept it close, making it sing again and again until she accepted Narvi's suit and joy there was in that time for both, for in the course of his pursuit she had discovered that she favored him, but this Narvi knew not until much later." Ori cleared his throat and got a mug of water to drink. Bilbo felt like he was coming awake after being in a dream; he could see the gifts in his mind, and the tale had swept him up to the point where he hardly knew who and where he was. He realized that at some point, Thorin had come back into the room from speaking with Balin and now sat next to him. The dark-haired dwarf took the hobbit's hand and smiled over at the young scribe, who ducked his head and flushed slightly at the sight.

Throat moistened, Ori continued. "The song goes on telling of their courting, the three courting gifts of Narvi Gatewright, and their marriage. I do not do it justice, and to be properly told it must be in Khuzdul, of course. To Celebrimbor, Narvi gave in bride-price three gems which he had, jewels of power the likes of which never were seen before or since, one of ruby, one of sapphire, and one of a white stone which none know the name of, but which glowed of their own light even in the deepest darkness. And by this gift, the strife between Celebrimbor and Narvi came to an end, and words of reconciliation were spoken on both sides, and the rift was healed. The great bell of Khazad-Dum rang so loudly at their touch during the wedding that folk say there were avalanches and rockfalls on all of the Three Mountains. And they were happy for a long time, even as Celebrimbor became king of Eregion after the departure of Galadriel and Celeborn to the mallorn forests in the east, but Narvi grew old in time, as all do. By the time he was two hundred and fifty years of age, his craft was so advanced that it was said Narvi Truehand could forge mist into cloth, but old he was all the same. When the orcs came to destroy Eregion, Narvi went against all advice to the wars on behalf of his wife's kin and fell in the fighting. His armor was true, his weapons were true, but his body failed him at the last. Of all foes the worst, age left him defenseless in the end. Celenae slew the orc who killed him, but that greatest of smiths was laid to rest in the deepest tombs of Bundushathur. She stayed at his tomb day and night, weeping and grieving, refusing all comfort. After weeks of grief, one morning there came only the sound of silence. When the tomb was searched there was no trace of the elf but only a statue in the image of Celenae in purest untarnished silver, placed in a position of mourning at the foot of the tomb where she had spent her days since his death. The elves tell some foolish story of her passing on a ship to the West to their lost kingdoms, but all dwarves know the truth: she was at least half-dwarf, for her soul and Narvi's were One. Mahal took pity upon her in her madness and her sorrow, and her body was turned to silver, and her soul was taken to his Halls, there to wait upon the remaking of the world. For love of Narvi Master-Smith she was and is and likely shall be the only elf to be in the Halls of Mahal in all the Ages of the World. And the silver shape of Celenae may be seen in the tomb of Narvi to this day. And this was the tale of the love of Narvi and Celenae." When he finished, the slight-built scribe bowed his head.

"Ori that was..." Bilbo was at a loss for words. "Amazing. Magnificent," he finally got out, but Ori blushed and waved away the praise.

"One of my favorite stories as a dwarfling," the prince said softly, and looked at Bilbo with glowing eyes, lifting Bilbo's hand and pressing his lips to the hobbit's knuckles. "And now I know why." Ori blushed even deeper at the sight, turning crimson to the roots of his braids. Putting on a more businesslike mien, Thorin said "Both of you should gather your things, I have sent for Ciraen and we will be going soon, one way or the other." Before Bilbo could pull himself out of the story enough to ask what that last ominous phrase meant, Thorin had stood and was calling for Dwalin and Nar. He hoisted his pack, giant sword balanced awkwardly on top, and carried it into the other room for ease of access. He was disturbed to see Dwalin and Nar flank the door with weapons handy if not drawn. What on earth...? At that moment, a knock sounded and Ciraen swept through the door.

"Prince Thorin, really, there was no need... for..." Ciraen looked around at the dwarves and his brows drew down. The guards at the door put their hands on their swords and stared.

"Warden Ciraen," Thorin said in what Bilbo had come to think of as the 'prince voice', sounding polite but firm, "we thank you for your hospitality. We will now depart on our way. As I said last night, it is urgent that we return to Erebor as quickly as may be done." While no weapons were being touched by anyone in the room, Bilbo thought even a child could have recognized the challenge in that statement and felt deeply nervous. Had Thorin forgotten what the hobbit had told him the night before from the overheard conversation between Ciraen and the guards?

"I see, but I'm afraid that won't be possible." Ciraen drew himself up, radiating hauteur. "It is too dangerous to allow such a small group to wander unguarded at the moment. Our soldiers have reported orc patrols from Gundabad everywhere south of..." Thorin snorted loudly, interrupting the elf, who glared at him for the rudeness.

Thorin set his feet firmly and smiled, albeit with little humor. "Perhaps the situation is unclear. Allow me to explain. We are determined to depart, and depart right now. As I see it, you have three options. You can attempt to take our weapons and keep us prisoners. If you do so, I assure you, we will fight you. Not only might lives be lost on both sides, you will start a war with Erebor that your king will not thank you for; if you aren't killed by a dwarf, you will be killed by Thranduil himself for your treachery and the ruination of his alliances. You can let us go without helping us further, which would be petty but understandable. Or you can provide us with additional food and possibly a guide, see us on our way, and treat us as the allies we supposedly are. What you cannot do is keep us here cooling our heels in this camp for days while you wait for someone else to make a decision." Ciraen's sputtering visibly amused one of the guards, though it didn't make him move an inch away from his sword. "Now," Thorin said, "make your choice."

"Prince Thorin, this is ridiculous! You can't simply bluster and..." Ciraen began, but once again Thorin interrupted.

"_Ifridi_!" the prince called in a voice like a trumpet, and he, Nar and Dwalin all brandished their enormous axes. Balin's face was a picture of sorrow, but he drew his oddly-shaped sword and assumed a guard position, and Vekkad nocked an arrow. Bilbo looked over at Ori, but the scribe was standing quietly, appearing unbothered and watching Thorin. The Axe of Dain shimmered in the light, looking as though fire was already licking from it, and as the mithril blade emerged Ciraen's face turned as pale as milk. Bilbo suspected that he wasn't the only one that felt the power of the weapon fill the space like a wall of flame.

"Please, please, I beg of you, put away your weapons! This is no way for allies and friends to behave!" Ciraen cried out. The guards at the door had drawn their swords as the axes came out, but they had to be well aware they wouldn't last long, the hobbit thought. Bilbo couldn't believe things had gone this poorly this quickly. Elves came running up behind the guards, summoned somehow, and arrows were nocked and pointed at the door. The whole moment seemed to hang by a shining thread. Ciraen looked down for a moment, then raised his hand. Before he even spoke, arrows were lowered and the guards sheathed their weapons, but Thorin and the others didn't move a muscle. In a bitter voice, the Warden said "Very well. I will not be responsible for your deaths at the hands of the orcs, but I will not cause them either." Balin was already putting his sword away, but Nar and Dwalin looked to Thorin, and the prince still held his axe for the moment.

Thorin gave a feral smile, more a baring of teeth than anything. "So it is not to be the first option then; well done, Warden, though your decision seemed fraught. Which of the others shall we have? A road and farewell, or food and aid?" Watching Thorin, Bilbo felt a pulse of desire shudder through him. He was so... regal and commanding, the hobbit thought. A previously unknown eroticism in seeing someone who was was so tender to him being so forceful with others made his pulse speed up. Thorin chose that moment to glance over at him and whatever he saw in Bilbo's face seemed to startle him. He looked back at Ciraen quickly, a light flush appearing on his cheeks. Ciraen sighed and flung up one hand. Bilbo couldn't ever remember an elf looking quite so... petulant.

"We will provide food and a guide, though you go to your deaths." Ciraen's nostrils flared as he looked around disdainfully. "When this haste and poor decision is mourned, see that I am not blamed for it." And with that, the elf swept out, ignoring the salutes of the guards. Nar's booming laugh echoed through the chamber.

"What an insufferable ponce," he announced, then without another word, slung his axe back onto his back and picked up his travel pack. Everyone else quietly shouldered theirs as well. In the silence, the snickering of the guard who had smiled earlier was clearly audible. Thorin looked around and cocked an eyebrow at the group.

"Shall we go?" he said, and they all moved towards the bright daylight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Naugrim = stunted ones (Sindarin insult)  
Ifridi = to arms


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the party departs the elf camp, Bilbo and Thorin get to visit a bit, Balin displays his skills at Bilbo's expense, and they draw near to the gates of Sarkhubuland.

As the group moved towards the door, Thorin held up his hand. "On second thought..." The prince looked at one of the guards, still standing at the door but looking rather lost after Ciraen had stormed past. "You. Go ask Ciraen to send our guide and food to us. When the guide arrives, we will all go together." Balin made a soft noise and shot an approving look at Thorin. His brother Dwalin grunted, and the two of them sat back down, as did Nar. Despite the relaxed postures, Bilbo noticed everyone kept their weapons close to hand. The guard stood for a moment and looked at his fellow, who shrugged helplessly. After a brief, quiet exchange in Sindarin, the first guard left. Thorin snorted and remained standing, facing the door. Vekkad stood as well, an arrow still nocked at his bowstring, glaring at the door as though it had personally offended him. 

Bilbo leaned closer to Ori. "Why did he change his mind?" he asked in a low voice. Ori glanced over at him.

"I am not sure, but I suspect it would have been too risky for us to go outside the building alone. Much easier to capture us properly and hold us prisoner when they can surround us. If we have a guide, then we also have a hostage, though how much use such a one would be is..." Bilbo was horrified. He didn't mean to interrupt but he couldn't help himself.

"A hostage? Good heavens, aren't these supposed to be your allies?" Ori shrugged and looked down at his feet.

"The elves of Greenwood are inconstant allies at best, I'm afraid. Their king, Thranduil, is secretive and proud, and he plots constantly for his own gain whether or not it benefits anyone else." Bilbo could barely restrain a snort of disbelief at the idea of a dwarf referring to anyone else as secretive and proud, but he knew Ori might be offended. If any of the others were eavesdropping, he was sure they would be.

As Bilbo tried to think of a way to ask Ori politely just why things had gotten so aggressive so quickly, there was a rap at the door and a familiar female elf appeared. She was carrying a satchel over one shoulder, along with a longbow and quiver of arrows. As she came into the room she bowed low, saying as she did so "Varin, daughter of Celys, at your service once again." Bilbo remembered her from the previous night. Before Thorin could speak, he jumped in.

"Bilbo Baggins at yours. How is your brother?" He asked, and her impassive expression quickly shifted to one of smiling relief. Bilbo felt a pang of guilt at Thorin's irritated expression, but he very much wanted to know.

"He is better, thank you, master _perian_," she said softly. "The healers have revived him, and he is recovering from his wounds, though he will be weak for some time. I am forever in your debt," she waved a hand to encompass the group and bowed to Thorin, "as he would have surely died if you had not found him and brought him back to us. My whole family owes you a life-debt for your kindness. By my own choice, I am delighted to serve as your guide, at least to our borders, and I bring you three weeks' supply of _lembas_ for your journey." She motioned towards the satchel over her arm. "The Warden has instructed me to lead you to the northernmost bridge across the Gladduin, since the river's water is unsafe to touch." Thorin stepped forward at this point, and once again Bilbo wondered what particular kingly magic the dwarf prince had that let him effortlessly become the center of attention.

"We accept your service as guide, and acknowledge your life-debt, but we are all pleased to have eased your family's suffering," Thorin said gravely. Bilbo felt a wave of irritation wash through him; after Bilbo demanded that they take care of the elf, almost at the expense of his courtship with Thorin, now Thorin has the nerve to act as though it was his idea all along! Let it never be said that dwarven royalty was short on sheer unmitigated nerve, the hobbit thought sourly. That takes the prize, it surely does. Thorin continued, "Perhaps this new elven cram will last where ours did not. How far is it to this bridge you speak of, and what makes the water of the river unsafe?" Varin looked down in respect, though her face had lost all expression again.

"It is my hope that the _lembas_ will be sufficient to see you to Erebor, Highness," she said. "The Gladduin is cursed. The water is oily and black, and those who touch it fall asleep for days; indeed, some never awaken. The river has been like this for over a hundred years, and the problem lies somewhere at the headwaters, far beyond our lands. We have never known the reason." Thorin didn't look even vaguely surprised, and Bilbo realized that the prince had surely known about the water already. After all, his party had to have come this way from Erebor, if nothing else. The hobbit wanted nothing more than to sit and hold his head in his hands. Why, he wondered with a growing sense of futility, had it seemed like a good idea to get involved with any of this? Was this how the dwarves of Erebor interacted with other races, the nonstop suspicion and watchfulness and duplicity? Or were the elves of the Greenwood special somehow? While Bilbo was thinking these dark thoughts, brief introductions were made between the guide and the party, with Vekkad twisting up his face in disgust at having to introduce himself to an elf. Before he could even get his tangled thoughts half-sorted, let alone formulate a question to ask Ori, Thorin announced that it was time to depart.

As they stepped blinking out into the sunlight, the light of day revealed the harsh lines of a camp that was ugly and utilitarian, at least by what little Bilbo knew of Elvish standards. While it was nestled among trees, the buildings were squat and graceless, bare wood that had none of the decoration for pure beauty's sake that he associated with elvish crafts. The wooden structures were close together, creating narrow alleys presumably for easier defense from the platforms set in the trees above them, and there was a palisade wrapped with... oh. Bilbo chuckled. Leave it to wood-elves to use poison ivy and other noxious creepers to protect their walls! In a moment, his amusement faded. Waxy white blossoms waved from a vine the hobbit had only seen drawings of in his mother's gardening books, but he remembered how profoundly toxic it was supposed to be, occasionally fatal even from a casual touch. Looking around uneasily, he pulled his clothing closer to himself. The rest of the party was cheerfully oblivious, but he noticed that Varin led them down the main path through the camp and far away from the deadly walls. Elven soldiers watched them go, curiosity warring on their faces with humor and what Bilbo very much tried not to consider disdain. Everyone except their guide seemed to breathe a sigh of relief as they passed through the gate, though the closeness of the air and the eerie stillness of the forest was hardly comforting. Dwalin and Nar both seemed to keep an eye on the gates behind themselves as long as they were in view, peering behind as often as they could, and Bilbo was once again amused by what most dwarves seemed to consider subtle. Once the gate was behind them, visibility was low as they passed back into the darkness of the forest.

As they moved beneath the trees, Varin led them down paths that appeared to be game trails, moving steadily northeast. The elf proved a good guide, offering advice about the various threats to be found in the northern parts of the Greenwoods. The dwarves were disinclined to speak much with an elf present, and the heavily forested terrain was rugged enough that they needed their focus for movement, so the day passed with little conversation. It took Bilbo several tries, but he finally found a way to arrange the scabbard of the elven sword he was carrying so that it didn't snag on branches and trees as they passed. At sunset, they made a fire and everyone sat thankfully around it, though they had no food to cook. The _lembas_ wafers were passed around, Varin explaining how to break them into quarters so that four could eat from one wafer. Thorin had seemed broody and out of sorts all day, but Bilbo had no idea what was bothering him. As the wafers were passed however, Thorin took a portion and came and sat next to Bilbo with a strange sort of smile on his face. The flickering of the firelight on the side of the dwarf's face was mesmerizing as he turned to offer the cake, dark hair spilling over his shoulders around the beaded braids. Bilbo reached his hand out to take what he presumed was his portion, but Thorin held it back. The hobbit was puzzled by the teasing expression on Thorin's face, but he felt himself flush from his feet to his curly blond hair when Thorin held out the bite towards Bilbo's lips, his intentions clear.

"Thorin!" he whispered in a scandalized voice, glancing around furtively. Nar and Dwalin had engaged Vekkad in some arcane dispute about axes versus bows, and Ori was talking to the elf intently under the watchful gaze of Balin. Nobody was looking at them at the moment, but Bilbo felt as though he was the center of attention nonetheless. Perhaps the dwarves didn't know what hand-feeding someone meant in the Shire, but Bilbo was appalled at the prospect of being publicly fed by someone else. Disappointment slipped across the dark-haired dwarf's features. Suddenly, Bilbo remembered his earlier decision to disregard the familiar social rules, and before he could change his mind, he very self-consciously leaned forward and took a bite of the crumbly cake. It was slightly sweet and not as dry as it had looked, and as he chewed Bilbo wondered if it was some sort of shortbread. The look on Thorin's face was worth it, he realized quickly, because all traces of chagrin quickly faded, replaced by desire. His intended's expression couldn't have been any more avid if Thorin himself were a hobbit from the Shire.

"Many things must wait, _azyungel_," came the deep whisper in return, "but some things I can do for you even here. There are no rules about this, I am delighted to say," and he reached out with his other hand to brush pale crumbs from Bilbo's lip. Without even thinking, the hobbit slipped his tongue out and gave a quick lick to the nearest finger, feeling at the same time like his face was on fire. Thorin grunted and leaned forward, his eyes going dark. "You have no idea," he started to say, before Balin cleared his throat meaningfully from across the fire. Before Thorin could pull the piece of lembas back, though, Bilbo caught his wrist. Leaning forward, he took another large bite, still holding on to Thorin's forearm with a light grip. Despite Balin's warning, the dwarf made no attempt to withdraw the gently captured hand, though Thorin's breathing had quickened somewhat. Finally Bilbo took the rest of the cake into his mouth, letting his lips and tongue pass lightly across Thorin's thick fingers as he did so, and then cut his eyes briefly across the fire towards Balin with an expression of 'so there'. The old dwarf huffed into his white beard and shook his head, but Bilbo thought the _lembas_ a thousand times more delightful when the taste of Thorin's fingers was added to it. Still dry, though, he grinned, as he reached for the waterskin. Thorin looked even more wrecked than he had the previous night after their kiss, and a surge of unfamiliar pride appeared in the hobbit, because he knew that he was the cause of that expression. Bilbo felt both pleased and completely disgraceful and whorish at the same time, and he was forced to wonder what sort of hobbit was going to return to the Shire, if he ever did. That sort of behavior would have practically provoked a riot in Hobbiton or Bywater. He abruptly realized that Ori was gaping at him like a hooked fish, a flush clearly visible even in the firelight and the elf sitting temporarily forgotten beside him. When Bilbo gave him a half-hearted glare the young scribe grinned broadly and ducked his head.

As Bilbo was about to go get a piece of the cake to repeat the process with Thorin, though, Balin called out to him. "Master Ba... Bilbo. If you have a moment, we should begin our protocol discussions. No time like the present, eh?" The look the old adviser got from Thorin for this would have stripped whitewash from a fence, but Balin just smiled kindly behind his long white beard like he noticed nothing. Bilbo realized yet again that the old diplomat was skilled at what he did. He just wished that what he did wasn't so often at the expense of what Bilbo wanted to do. Sighing, he agreed and went over, and the remainder of the evening was spent discussing the intricacies of who could do what, say what, and to whom in the realm of dwarven politics. Even the introductory lesson left the poor historian's head swimming, so by the time he went to bed all of the evening's thrills had faded into a dull headache. The unnerving sight of glowing eyes outside the ring of firelight was disturbing, but Varin had assured them that they were only curious creatures, not dangerous ones, so Bilbo resolved to sleep and rest for the following day.

The next day dawned overcast, since the dim light was even less than usual below the forest canopy. A quick breakfast was followed by another day of silence and game trails. The forest seemed to be thinning a bit and there were at least small places where the light of the day could have pierced through, if the sky hadn't been pewter grey. Bilbo thought at first that Greenwood would be like the woods of the Shire, or the trees they had passed through on the other side of the Anduin, but there was no comparison. There, they just happened to be among trees. This was a proper forest, and all the plants and animals seemed to be part of a greater whole, born together and living together in an interwoven fashion, not just happening to be located in the same spot. The terrain was becoming rockier, but it didn't seem to impede the trees much. Instead the occasional stones added a new obstacle to the forest floor, occasionally forcing the trails to detour around them. Bilbo noticed that there was also thicker undergrowth, which usually meant that they were coming to the edge. Here, though, it was anyone's guess. 

By midafternoon, the trees had thinned even more and eventually a river came into view along with the sound of roaring water. It was much narrower than the Anduin had been, barely more than a stream in width, but the water was deep and rushing. The water was indeed as oily looking and jet-black as they had been warned, racing along over rocks and carrying bits of wood and dead leaves in its wake. They all looked at it uneasily. Bilbo found it odd that the vegetation didn't seem to be affected by whatever vileness afflicted the stream itself; the plants nearby were as green and healthy as if it were normal clear water, but no amount of money could have convinced him to touch that rushing black current. Varin nodded, though no-one had spoken, and said simply "We will follow the Gladduin north to the bridge. As you were told earlier, do not touch the water under any circumstances." Thorin let out a grunt which could have meant anything or nothing, and the group followed along behind her like, Bilbo snickered to himself, very unlikely, tremendously hairy ducklings. The image of burly, heavily armed ducklings kept him amused until they made camp, but as soon as the waybread had been distributed Balin wasted no time in cornering him to continue their protocol discussion. Thorin, who had been headed over presumably to speak to Bilbo, scowled and stomped off. The hobbit could tell what the white-haired adviser had spent the day's march thinking of, he thought sourly, and cast a longing glance over to where Thorin sat. The prince was glaring at the fire as though it had wronged him, completely out of sorts at the results of Balin's little strategem. Eventually he tired of sulking and wandered over to attempt to join the discussion, but Balin shooed him away again almost immediately. Bilbo heard him grumble "remind me again who is being punished?" as he was driven off, and the hobbit's resulting smirk seemed to irritate Balin for the remainder of the evening. Ori was once again glued to the elf's side, asking question after question and listening carefully to her responses. If Bilbo had been able to spare a moment from his own drills he would have found a way to apologize to her for the seemingly relentless inquisition she was getting, but she didn't seem to mind too terribly.

Bilbo was fighting a headache and laying out his bedroll when he felt someone sit next to him. He hadn't even glanced over when he heard an unmistakable deep voice mutter in his ear "When I am king, Balin will be sent on diplomatic missions. Constantly. To the furthest places dwarves have built. The ruins of Tumunzahar. Nurnen. Far Harad." Laughing in spite of himself, Bilbo glanced over just as Thorin said "Maybe Valinor," and gave the crooked half-smile that always made the hobbit feel as though his knees had gone wobbly.

"That sounds like an abuse of power, O prince, I'm shocked you would suggest such a thing," Bilbo said quietly, grinning at the dwarf in spite of himself. "However, I understand there may be a dwarven city somewhere in the Bone Mountains south of Umbar, perhaps he could take a long boat ride to see if they need any iron? Surely such an important trade mission would require his presence." Thorin snorted with laughter. 

Thorin leaned in as though to whisper words of love, and Bilbo was a bit surprised when what he heard instead was "We will reach the bridge tomorrow, my heart. Varin said so, and I remember from the last time we passed this way. She will return to their camp unless she has orders otherwise. We will travel west for an hour to see if we are followed. If not, we shall turn north. Be ready to move quickly." Thorin pulled back and smiled fondly, like he had just said something romantic, and Bilbo felt a burning irritation that even their courting was now being used to enable political machinations and subterfuge. He could feel his lips thinning in exasperation, and knew that his face must be giving away exactly what he was feeling.

"Prince Thorin, I'd like to speak to just Thorin, if you please," the hobbit said sharply, "I was very much enjoying a rare quiet moment with my intended before you decided to _ruin it_." Thorin's eyes widened and he glanced away for a moment, but when he looked back Bilbo could tell he'd realized what he had done. He had enough experience with the dark-haired prince to watch the emotions running through his expression, from irritation at being challenged to awareness of just how rude that had been to embarrassment.

"My apologies, _azyungel_," Thorin said, hanging his head and sighing. "As I told you, it has been decades since I have been anything but the prince. Besides, I have never courted before, and clearly I am not very good at it." Thorin leaned forward with his elbows against his knees and hid behind a curtain of dark silver-striped hair as Bilbo let out a huff of disgust.

"Stop being so dramatic," the hobbit muttered. He tugged at Thorin's hand until he had it in his grip. "If you waste the tiny bit of time we have together sulking, it's even worse than if you waste it plotting." He fixed Thorin with one bright, merciless eye, looking uncannily like a bird. "You are fine at courting when you actually pay attention to what you are doing. But this time together is a gift, especially with Balin around, so do not waste it on foolishness like politics." He reached out and boldly pushed the silvered curtain of dark hair aside, stopping for a moment to admire the handsome profile of the dwarf beside him despite his sheepish, hangdog expression. Thorin's eyes fluttered shut and he gave a soft sigh at the sensation of Bilbo's hand in his hair, and Bilbo remembered suddenly their previous communication about the impropriety of touching a dwarf's hair. Right on cue, a throat clearing that sounded more like an avalanche came from where Balin was sitting. "The wretched creature," Bilbo muttered, glaring over at Balin as he dropped the soft hair like it was red hot and sat back in disgust. Thorin straightened and looked back at Bilbo, despite tension still lingering at the corners of his eyes and mouth.

"I thought it would be a good way to let you... well. After all, we were only talking about nonsense," Thorin said, aiming another of his evil stares at Balin, which was completely ignored as usual.

Bilbo drew himself up to his full height and forced his face to be stern. "What do you mean?" He huffed, as Thorin looked a bit panic-stricken that he had made yet another mistake. In a haughty voice, the hobbit said "Nonsense is of the utmost importance! I will have you know, Thorin Oakenshield, that nonsense is a sacred ritual among hobbits! It is far more necessary than anything else we could possibly be doing!" Bilbo was very proud of his curt tone. He was even doing a fairly decent job of keeping a straight face, at least until he looked at Thorin, whose look of utter befuddlement was the cause for Bilbo to start laughing. He wasn't able to stop even when the others started craning around the fire to see what was going on, because Thorin kept staring at him like he wasn't sure whether he was serious or not. To be fair, Bilbo wasn't completely sure himself. Quite a bit of what went on in the Shire was utter nonsense, for all that it was treated with the utmost seriousness. As soon as Thorin realized that Bilbo was laughing he exclaimed in fake disgust, but his smile as he turned away was blinding, and it hit the hobbit like a stone to the back of the head. For the first time, Bilbo felt a quiet sense of comfort and rightness in this courting that had swept him up and dashed all his previous certainties on the rocks. Gandalf's questionable advice had landed him in his current situation, travel and courting alike. Since the Shire, fear and self-loathing and horror had been constant companions; desire, loneliness, the hope for something better and (if he was being completely honest) lust were equally present. Unfortunately, neither of those emotional groupings formed the basis for even a stable long-term friendship, let alone marriage. Bilbo realized with a touch of chagrin that he had known that on a deep level even though it hadn't been a conscious realization. But this... sitting next to each other comfortably, talking of silliness, just enjoying each other's company and the evening, this was a pleasure the hobbit could see himself enjoying even when he was old and feeble, long after the raging emotions had settled along with the body's desires. An almost overwhelming wave of affection for Thorin swept through him and he took his intended's hand and kissed it with a flourish, then smiled over at the dwarf when he turned back, still wearing that room-lighting grin. "Silly old dwarf," he sighed. For a few minutes they sat together holding hands in companionable silence until Thorin leaned over and kissed the hobbit on his cheek.

"Go to bed, my heart," he murmured. "I will learn, I promise." Thorin stood up, then leaned back over and pressed another kiss to Bilbo's lips. Though more chaste than their previous ones, this one held the promise of sweetness and Bilbo's heart thumped almost painfully at the warm look in the dwarf's blue eyes as he withdrew.

"Good night, Thorin," Bilbo said softly. "I know you will." He looked into his intended's eyes, and what he saw there drew words out of him he hadn't meant to say. "These moments with you are precious to me, you know." Those words were enough to bring back the blinding smile, and Bilbo thought if his handsome dwarf smiled like that more often, surely the whole world would fight just for the privilege of seeing his face.

"To me as well, _azyungel_. Never doubt it," and with that, Thorin strode off to his own bedroll, leaving a very introspective hobbit to try to find sleep, with only intermittent success.

The next morning, departure was delayed as Varin vanished into the woods, returning within an hour with a small deer, already dressed and half-skinned. At Thorin's raised eyebrow, she said "Eating any diet nonstop becomes quite dull, including _lembas_. If your party were to take some of the deer from the king's woods, you would not have permission to do so, and I would hate to have the ones who saved my brother accused of poaching! I, however, have been granted permission to hunt, so if I hunt for you, it seems like proper hospitality instead of poaching." She smiled gently, though her eyes were laughing. "Don't you agree, prince Thorin?"

"I would never dream of disputing with you on the matter, mistress Varin," Thorin replied with a smile. "We will camp early tonight to give us a chance to cook some of it and dry as much of the rest as practical." The elf guide nodded soberly.

"Be careful with your fire. There are orcs who would be drawn to an open fire in the north, if you make it visible." When asked about the numbers of orcs, though, Bilbo noticed the guide never gave a specific reply. Balin thanked her effusively for the meat as well. Varin chose to carry the deer with her when they departed. By midday, they had come to a stone bridge across the racing flood of black water. Bilbo noticed that the bridge made his magic sense tingle a bit as well, but the only thing that seemed unusual in its construction was that the closely fitted grey stones seemed to hold together without mortar. Passing the carcass of the deer to a disgusted Nar (as Vekkad refused to take it from her) Varin said "Here is the bridge at the border of our lands, and here I must leave you. I have completed my duty to my Warden, though my life debt is not fulfilled. If there is other service you require of me, I ask that you speak it. If not, I will return to my camp, but if you ever have need of me or my family, call and we will answer."

Thorin went over to stand before Varin, and Bilbo thought that he once again looked every inch the royal prince, despite his travel-stained and worn gear. "You have served your Warden and your King admirably, Varin, daughter of Celys. We thank you for your aid, and have no other task for you. We acknowledge your debt, and in the fullness of time may call upon you. Until then, be well and go with our thanks for your aid and your kind gift of food." Thorin returned her deep bow with a nod of his head, and Varin melted back into the trees.

Vekkad's muttered "Good riddance," was cut short by Nar flinging the dead deer at him, almost knocking him down.

"Carry this, and stop acting like a child," the stocky Broadbeam grunted as the rest of the party tried to hide their grins. "I need both hands free to swing my axe. We've no time for your moods and notions." Vekkad glowered but didn't dare criticize Nar openly, and Thorin and Balin stared off into the distance, pretending not to see or hear any of it. Bilbo would have felt bad for him, but he had to concede that the red-bearded hunter hadn't exactly been going out of his way to endear any of the others to him. After seeing Vekkad's reaction to the elf, though, he realized how relatively nice Vekkad had been to him after all. 

"Let's go," Thorin said, and the group set off. As he had warned Bilbo the night before, they were once again setting a brutal pace. Both Nar and Dwalin seemed to be looking behind, trying to spot any trace of being followed, but after an hour or so the group turned to the left and headed north. By late afternoon, the trees had thinned and the ground had become significantly stonier. The land here reminded Bilbo of the foothills of the Misty Mountains, and indeed, the Grey Mountains loomed to the north, looking washed out and living up to their names. Nar grunted and Bilbo realized that they had found an overgrown roadway running east and northwest, grass growing up between cobbles which had been pushed in out of alignment by the freezing and thawing of the years. Thorin called out "At last! This road should take us to the gates of Sarkhubuland. Mind the river if we draw near," and they set off again at a faster pace thanks to having a road. The cobbles were brutal on Bilbo's bare feet, so he walked to the side in the soft loam. In the early evening, Nar held up a hand and the group stopped.

"There's a marker to the side for a rest spot," he called out as he gestured to a carved stone set unobtrusively near the road. "Let's see if we can find it." Fifteen minutes or so later, the last of the sun was turning the mountains golden as they found a small camping area carved into the side of a massive boulder. The spot where the fire would be had a carved chimney so that the fire could be hidden almost completely within the stone, and Thorin and Dwalin both pronounced it a fine place to stay. While Balin lit the fire, Bilbo got to work butchering the deer and cooking chunks of meat. He wondered what tomorrow would bring. Surely after four hundred years the dragon would be gone, but he couldn't fight off a sense of unease about their mission. He supposed they would know soon enough.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ori confesses a bit of jealousy to Bilbo, the party arrives in Sarkhubuland, and the full scope of their task becomes apparent.

As Bilbo was tending to the roasting venison, Ori came and sat next to him. Crickets chirped in the grasses around them, the sound oddly familiar to the hobbit for an area that looked so little like the Shire. Fat dripped from the meat into the fire, and the smell was making everyone look over from time to time, but the hobbit noted that Balin and his brother had cornered Thorin on one side of the campsite. Ori looked up shyly and asked in a soft voice, "What's it like?"

"I'm sorry?" Bilbo responded, sprinkling a bit of his hoarded salt onto the meat while it turned. "What do you mean?"

Ori looked down at his boots. "I told you, I've dreamed of finding my One ever since I was just a tiny dwarfling. I used to think about Narvi - like him, I hate being alone." His eyes cut over to Bilbo. "I'm a little jealous, honestly. So what's it like?"

Bilbo laughed through his nose. "I don't know what to tell you, Ori. Mostly it's confusing, but I don't know how much of that is related to all this One business and how much of it is just Thorin and I being from totally different cultures with different rules about everything. That part is a constant source of frustration," he sighed.

"You're perfect together," Ori said suddenly, loudly, as though he was settling an argument that nobody had been having. When Bilbo glanced up at him incredulously from the venison, the young scribe flushed but continued. "The things you say to each other are so romantic. When you told him the other night that you were glad to be courting and would take any gift I thought I would cry. I want to find someone that makes me say things like that." Bilbo felt a rush of affection for the young dwarf, reminding himself that Ori might be older in years but that if he were a hobbit, he would probably be quite a bit younger than Bilbo.

"You will," He told the young scribe quietly, and at that precise moment he believed it utterly. "You are a brilliant and charming young dwarf, and anyone would be lucky to have you. You will find the right person, Ori, and when you do, your courtship will be a storybook tale." Ori was staring at him with wide, wondering eyes.

"How... how do you know that?" he stammered.

"I just do." the hobbit said firmly. Ori's eyes were the size of dinner plates and Bilbo hoped fervently that he hadn't suddenly acquired the reputation of a prophet as well as all the rest of his ridiculous titles. "Now, tell me about this Sarka... Sarku... this city where the crown is," he demanded, passing a freshly roasted piece of meat to Ori off the spit. Tossing it from hand to hand, the dwarf snickered at the utter butchering of the city name, but sobered quickly.

"Sarkhubuland was founded in 2210 of the current age, some 730 years ago give or take. When Khazad-Dum fell, my kin were driven out and wandered aimlessly for years, but ironically enough Erebor was discovered first. Nobody knew of the riches beneath the Lonely Mountain at that time; they are especially deep beneath the mountain, and even the 'keepers of the day were unaware." Ori glanced down for a moment. "Truly, most of the Stonekeepers of that time died to Durin's Bane, so the ones left were weak or only partially trained. We don't like to speak much of it, but after Khazad-Dum fell we lost so much of our knowledge and culture... much survived, but much just... didn't. Our magic, our steel, even our number of children, these things are much less than they were." The dwarf's face was miserable. "Some think that Mahal made us specifically for that place and that when we lost it, we lost much of what made us Khazd." He gave a great shuddering sigh, and Bilbo wished he knew the proper dwarven way to offer friendly comfort. After a moment Ori rallied and continued, "But after that great loss, we found Erebor and it seemed a good location but a bit, well, all stone and no ore, if you know what I mean. An expedition to the Grey Mountains came here and found that these peaks were fat with gold; there is also iron, and coal, and thus the makings of steel, but there is gold here unmatched even in the depths of Erebor. So Thorin I, our leader's namesake (also a son of a father named Thrain, funny enough) went forth leading most of the dwarves of the Firebeards and Broadbeams, with enough Longbeards to be well-represented, and settled here. 

"Sarkhubuland was the second great home of the Three Clans, though some always stayed in Erebor. If the great drake who destroyed it was like others of his kind, all the gold he could find will have been rounded up and piled in a giant heap. It may be that the crown would be there as well, though the records of its appearance are very vague. I am uncertain if it contained any gold or not, and if it is simple, chances are good that it won't be in the hoard. I will tell you, based on the records, there will be a tremendous amount of gold in the city. The same gold that brought us here brought the dragons as well though, and the first attacks came in 2570, not even four hundred years after it was founded. The attacks grew worse, as more and more (and larger and larger) dragons came to bother the city; much of the military was killed in fighting one or another of them. In 2589 the city was destroyed, and both Dain the King and his son and heir Fror were killed by an enormous cold drake whose name is not known. 

"Prince Thorin's grandfather Thror led the refugees back to Erebor, to rejoin those who hadn't made the trip in the first place. Within the first five years, the deep lodes were found and we realized that there was gold and other ores a-plenty for the taking in the mountain, it was just far deeper than expected. And there we have been ever since." Ori took a sip of water. Bilbo shook his head, recognizing a fellow historian in his bones. All the dates, all the events, key economic data, and not a single thing that told him what to expect tomorrow! He wondered how many times he had done something similar to someone else, and giggled in spite of himself, waving off Ori's inquisitive look.

"Thank you for the overview, but I meant what was the layout of the city, how far do we think we will have to go to find the crown, that sort of thing," the hobbit asked. He pulled another chunk of venison off the flames and set it aside, choosing to ignore Ori's flush of embarrassment. Thorin's voice rose from behind him, arguing with someone, but Bilbo had no idea what the problem was.

"Oh, of course." Ori cringed slightly. "Well I... don't actually know. I found documents that make it very clear that there is a large market space just inside the main gate that was the site of the dragon's first rampage. There is also a large open space further into the mountain with a speaking platform where the king used to give addresses to the people, because it's mentioned in several texts. Beyond that..." he shrugged. Bilbo managed to resist the urge to bash his head against the rock he leaned against, but only just.

Eyeing the roasting meat expertly, the hobbit laughed to think how much skill he had acquired in the past few weeks at campfire cooking. Slicing the meat with a large knife, he sprinkled it with a bit of black pepper. Picking up the plate, he quickly moved back to where Thorin was talking with Balin and Dwalin about how to enter the ruins and passed it to the prince. The dwarf stopped mid-sentence, looked down at the plate, over at Bilbo, and gave one of his blazing smiles to the hobbit. Balin snorted and Dwalin's eyebrows were practically on top of his head, but the two ignored them and smiled at each other for a moment, then Bilbo returned to Ori and the cookfire. The hobbit chose to ignore the warrior's barely-heard comment about 'domestic bliss', but a loud thud and yell from Dwalin caused Bilbo to walk back over to the venison wearing a small, wicked grin. He put the rest of the meat near the fire to dry and turned to chat further with Ori about the history of the city they were about to enter.

The next morning came all too soon. Bilbo was one of the first awake, but after looking through the supplies, he started breaking lembas cakes and setting out pieces for everyone. His clothes had gotten positively baggy, he noticed (not for the first time). He was on the second newly punched hole in his belt; so much for the plump, round hobbit who had left the Shire those weeks ago! The dwarves picked up their items, cleaned the campsite to the casual eye, and started off again. 

After an hour on the road, Dwalin wondered aloud where the river had gone. Thorin reminded him that it flowed southeast instead of south; this far north, it was further to the west than expected. After a few hours, though, it slid into view and the road ran closely parallel to the river bank. They drew closer to the mountains, and Bilbo thought he had never seen a less inviting vista - even the bare rocky slopes of the Misty Mountains seemed welcoming compared to this barren emptiness. By midmorning, they were in among rocky slopes, and at one point Nar pointed to a steep stair climbing a rocky wall. "Guard post" was the only comment, but it showed they were at least drawing near the city. The oily black river roared and raced in a channel that looked to have been at least partially shaped, and Bilbo's own stone sense told him it had been carved at some point. At noon, what remained of the the gates were visible and everyone stopped without a word being said.

The road ran over an arching bridge straight into the carved side of the mountain, a sheer upthrust wall of rock that seemed to stretch upwards almost out of sight. A few broken balconies were visible far up, gaping doors into emptiness, but the main gates were shattered into fragments and the gaping hole was pitch black inside. No bird calls or insect sounds disturbed the quiet, and an eerie, almost brooding silence hung over the scene like an invisible mist. The only sound was the roaring of the foul, inky water, racing out of the mountain from some unseen hole and swirling in a torrent below the bridge. There was a persistent sense of being watched or... Bilbo thought a better word would be sensed. The black gap in the wall seemed to be staring at them, somehow. Balin shuddered, and Dwalin said quietly to Thorin, "I remember the last time I was in a place where an empty gate watched me like that. You do too." Thorin's face grew pale, but he didn't respond. Balin glanced at his brother sharply, and Bilbo suddenly remembered the stories of Dain claiming to have seen Durin's Bane just inside Moria's eastern gate. Thorin stood and looked at the gates for long moments, and the rest of the party watched him and waited. Finally, he shook himself and spoke.

"Durin's Bane cannot be here, we are far from Khazad-Dum. We must be as quiet as possible to not wake the wyrm if it remains, but we can do this. We must do this. The Dragon Crown is our salvation, and we must return with it." With each word, the prince's face firmed. By the end, his eyes flashed bravely, and Bilbo thought to himself that he had never seen a leader so charismatic. Without another word, they moved towards the gates. As they drew nigh, Thorin spoke once again. "Ware the water," was all he said, and they all eyed the rushing black current with distrust. Bilbo wondered if the elves knew that the source of the river lay beneath a dwarven fortress, and what could corrupt the river in such a way, but the shadowy tunnel that led through the broken gates kept drawing his thoughts.

Each step they took intensified the dread they felt. Bilbo knew in his bones something was wrong in that place. These ruins were not a place that living things should be; he couldn't imagine how even a dragon could make a home in such an unremittingly hostile place. He didn't think even orcs could stomach such an environment - this place didn't just hate the good, it seemed to hate life itself. As they walked up to the shattered gates, two bundles of what had looked like sticks resolved into skeletons, tumbled into odd patterns by wind and rain. Nar and Vekkad looked at them, and the red-bearded dwarf grunted "Cave goblins." Picking through the bones, he held up a vertebra with a notch cut in it. "Killed by weapons, looks like. Maybe a disagreement with other goblins, maybe someone else." The hunter looked around uneasily. "Prime place for an ambush. Hope this place isn't full of goblins."

"No," Nar said heavily, scowling behind his long black beard. "No goblin nor orc could live in a place like this for long. They'd feel the dread same as we do. This is no place for the living." A whisper went through the group, as though Nar had put in words what they had all been thinking. Bilbo wished his own suspicions hadn't been confirmed quite so openly, though.

"What..." the hobbit began, then stopped as everyone looked at him. "What causes that feeling? The dread?" The others' faces were grim and masklike, despite the shining sunlight.

"No idea," Nar said shortly. They all moved through the gates, and no sounds came from the ruined halls inside. Just past the gates they entered a short hall which led to another set of gates that also lay in ruins. Murder holes were overhead, leading off into darkness and attracting more than one uneasy glance from the party. As the group entered the short passage, they saw heavy boot tracks in the thick dust. "Orcs," Nar murmured, and Vekkad nodded. Balin and Dwalin drew their weapons without a word, but Thorin just shook his head. Bilbo drew his short sword, but was pleased to see that the blade stayed cold and grey.

"Not many," Vekkad said. "Small party, looks like. Tracks lead in, but they're old. No tracks leading out again, either." The tracker knelt down and swiped a finger inside one of the bootprints, leaving a clear track in the dust inside the step. "Been a while since these were made." Bilbo moved ahead and peered into the open space beyond the inner gate, which was (if possible) even more comprehensively destroyed than the outer one had been. His small gasp of shock drew the rest of the party to his side, and they all peered together into the great market hall of Sarkhubuland.

The light of day was streaming into the hall somehow in shafts of dusty light. If not for the looming feeling of dread, Bilbo thought it would have been lovely in a melancholy way. Every stone surface was smoothed and most were engraved with angular patterns for decoration. In the center of the hall, a giant stone fountain had stood, and at one point it seemed to have been plated with gold; patches of gold still clung to the shattered surface, despite the scratches and scrapes of something (the dragon?) which had attempted to remove as much of the gold as possible. Now the stone basins were shattered, lying in a pile of oddly shaped fragments, and a long trail of dark scummy-looking mold led from the fountain across the floor to the western wall. Looming beside the broken fountain was the skeleton of a truly enormous dragon, stretched out like it had been moving towards the gate when death came upon it. So that, the hobbit thought dazedly, was what a dragon looked like. The bones looked odd, somehow, but who knew what a dragon's bones should look like? The foolishness of their mission almost rose up and choked him, looking at the size of the beast, the enormous fangs in the skull before him, the wings that must have been a hundred or more feet across. Even if it couldn't breathe fire, he thought, what could six dwarves and a hobbit have done against that? Or six hundred dwarves, for that matter? Six thousand might not be enough. Enormous jaws that could have swallowed the little historian in one bite seemed to mock him even from death. All around the hall, the shattered remnants of market stalls and their contents were strewn everywhere, wooden flinders and pottery shards flung across the floor helter skelter, some covered in the ubiquitous black mold from the fountain's trail of slimy water, others mounded up in piles. On the far side of the hall, three massive open arches led deeper into the empty city, with the center archway having tracks in the dust that had clearly been made by the dragon. The footprints in the dust went over to the huge skeleton, milled around a bit, then headed off into the western side of the market hall. They could see a pile of bundles on the floor of the hall, though Bilbo couldn't make out the shapes. Two of them were oddly shaped, the rest appeared to be lying down. Vekkad exhaled sharply, though the hobbit supposed whether it was supposed to be a laugh or a sound of disgust was anyone's guess.

The group crept out into the market hall, feeling eerily exposed in the shafts of sunlight. There's nothing here, Bilbo reminded himself. Nothing scary, nothing dangerous is in this room, you'd see it, the light is fine. Better than fine, actually, he realized, looking around. He had no idea that dwarven mountain halls were so well lit, or even could be so well lit. They picked their way through the wreckage towards the bundles, which were slowly resolving into the shapes of bodies. "Orcs," Vekkad murmured, just loud enough to be heard. "Big ones, too." Bilbo kicked something, and he looked down to see a carved wooden doll, staring back up at him from the tattered remnants of clothes. Looking around he saw more scraps and bits of children's clothing, toys, and other items; one of the stalls nearby must have contained items for dwarven children. That more than anything else drove home the tragedy that had taken place here when the dragon came. Bilbo could have sworn he heard something, but none of the others seemed to react so he cursed himself for being so nervous. The party finally made their way along the trail of footprints to the bodies, and as Vekkad had said the mysterious bundles were clearly was left of a raiding party of dead orcs, even though they were nothing but bones and bits of armor. Vekkad looked around the camp. A crude iron pot sat on top of the ashes of a fire which had clearly been made from pieces of wood from the destroyed market stalls. More wood scraps of a decent size were piled nearby. Vekkad eased over to the two oddly shaped bundles and made a strange sound, then leaned down to examine them closely. "These were standing, probably keeping watch. Sat down and died. No marks of weapons, animal bites, nothing." He turned around, walked around the perimeter of the little encampment. "These others died in their sleep. No wounds." He looked over at Thorin, and the look on his face was deeply concerned. "What kills like that? Wasn't firedamp or gas, we're practically outside, and you can feel the draft in here." Nar and Dwalin met each other's eyes and both of them cast sharp looks towards the huge dragon skeleton, but neither of them spoke.

Thorin shook his head dourly. "No idea. No other tracks in the dust, though. Maybe they died of poison?" Thorin eyed the black river of mold striped across the floor dubiously. "That looks like normal mold, but..." Vekkad snickered.

"Not unless it took them all at exactly the same moment. Look at this," the slight hunter said, pointing to each body in turn, "these two standing suddenly decide to have a quiet sit while everyone else is asleep? Then the whole lot die at practically the same time? That's not how poison works. Especially not from fungus, even that from the deep places. If it was _fakhtut_ they'd all have shit themselves to death, not to mention we'd find big green glowing piles of mold hard to miss. If it was _shukhtut_ they'd have been gasping for air and when the bodies burst the bones would be all over, not to mention that just this quick we'd all be coughing... these all just died. Wasn't poison, unless it was something I've never seen or heard of." Vekkad looked down, face scowling in concentration, then slowly shook his head. "I've never seen anything like it, but I can tell you now I don't like it. Nar's right, something bad is here. We need to find the crown and leave this cursed place. It's our death to stay here." Thorin looked at him like he wanted to argue, but finally nodded. Ori shuddered next to him.

"There's supposed to be another big open space further in," Ori said, voice trembling a bit, "The great commons, it was called in the Chronicle of Thorin I. Unless they changed it, there's a balcony where the king spoke and made pronouncements over a big open area. Doors leading to all the rest of the city. Might be where the dragon piled his hoard." Balin nodded and his face brightened.

"Maybe the dragon found the crown and we can get it there. Quick in and out, eh lad?" The old dwarf clapped Bilbo on the shoulder. "What does your Deep Sight say? Can you feel it?" Bilbo's heart sank to his feet with what he had to tell the group.

"Erm," he started, feeling even worse when Thorin turned proud eyes on him, "I... can't feel anything at the moment but these weapons we're carrying, I'm afraid." Dead silence was the only reply, though Nar's eyes narrowed a bit as though he were thinking. "It's like asking someone with good ears what they hear while people are shouting right next to them. This sword is so strong I could feel it from the hill outside the troll cave, and the axe... well, it's even worse. Trying to find the crown with the axe nearby is like standing in a bonfire and looking for a distant candle." Nar grunted, but Thorin looked ill.

"We can't split up," Thorin said flatly, voice rough with tension. "This place is dangerous. The seven of us together will have troubles enough, but..." Nar waved his hand dismissively.

"Forgive me for saying so, Thorin, but splitting up is a last ditch solution. While I've no Deep Sight, I'm not a total novice in such matters. Let's see if we can maybe just put some distance between Master Baggins and the noisy bits first. The axe was muffled by that rockfall; even the sages of Khazad-Dum couldn't find it in there, so we know stone muffles such things. Vekkad, you're the one with a bow; I've got a fair bit of stone sense, I've heard, and a good axe myself, though it's no Axe of Dain." His claim to have 'a bit' of stone sense had everyone but Thorin chuckling. "Let's we two take our fine hobbit forward into that hall with the dragon tracks and see what's what, eh? Thorin, you, Dwalin, Balin and Ori carry the loud magics back here and listen close for our call." Thorin nodded, but looked a bit put out, and Balin grimaced but seemed to agree. Nar wasn't finished. "Listen close for our call, though; if we need you, we're going to need you in a hurry I expect." He turned to Bilbo. "Master Baggins, if you'd be so kind, let us know when you get far enough away that you can feel something other than the two weapons we've brought, and then again when you can't feel them... if you get to such a place. We'll need to stay quiet while moving, but hold up one finger when you get to where you can sense other things, and your whole hand when you can't feel the axe. Make sense?" Bilbo nodded.

"I can do that." He took his sword off his pack and started to put it down, but thought for a moment. Balin had drilled into him with each of the few protocol lessons he had received how much stock dwarves put in ownership. Each dwarf protected what was theirs, and it was theirs alone; wars started over disputes of property rights, even more than over matters of honor. Hoping he was guessing correctly, he turned to Thorin and formally extended the sword. "I leave this with you, but I remind you that this is _mine_," he emphasized, and out of the corner of his eye saw Balin grinning ear to ear, nodding slowly. "To be clear, I am not giving this back to you." Thorin smiled warmly, and reached out to clasp his shoulder as he took the sword with the other hand.

"I will guard it for you, and return it to you upon demand." The look in his blue eyes was like a kiss. Ori sniffled loudly, and Vekkad's eyes rolled so hard Bilbo was surprised they didn't fly out the Firebeard's ears. In a much softer voice, pitched for Bilbo's ears alone, Thorin said "Well done, _azyungel_. Be safe." Seeing Bilbo's face, Nar laughed out loud.

"Well, Master Baggins, we'll make a proper dwarf of you yet! That's a well struck blow of the hammer for sure, nice to see Balin's not lost his touch for teaching! Now let's move slowly towards that great door over there with the belly tracks leading to it. Clearly too much to ask that the bloody lamps might still be working, I suppose." Ignoring Balin's sideways look, he and Vekkad flanked the hobbit as they walked across the hall towards the central arch. As they walked, Nar said to Bilbo in a low voice, "If this doesn't work, we'll have to leave the weapons here while we go on, but I'd prefer to have the Axe of Dain with me, if it's all the same to you." Looking up at Nar's grin, Bilbo nodded emphatically. He didn't know what was in here with them, but he couldn't have agreed more.

Once they reached the other side of the room, the sense of the axe had faded a bit, and the tingle from the sword was fairly faint. For the first time, he started to gain a very faint sense other things deeper into the halls. Unfortunately, the sense of nameless dread was increasing as well. He held up one finger, and Nar nodded. They peered uncertainly into the darkness of the tunnel ahead, but the smooth floor continued on with no trace of a slope into the depths of the mountain. There was a giant crystal lamp hung overhead that made Bilbo's magic sense tingle a touch as he drew close, but shards of some sort of yellowish crystal littered the floor under it. Nar looked at it for a moment then shook his head in disgust. He and Vekkad gestured at each other for a moment and Bilbo wondered what was going on; as soon as they were done, Vekkad pulled out a torch from his bag and lit it with a flint and steel. The hobbit was shocked to realize that apparently the dwarves had some sort of language of hand signs, and felt a brief, burning moment of irritation that nobody had mentioned it to him before. You are not a dwarf, he reminded himself. They tell you more than they want to already. He squared his shoulders and forced himself to move forward.

In the flickering firelight, the mirrored walls shimmered darkly like they were wet, interrupted by smoothed carvings of decorative bands of knotwork and geometric patterns. They moved onward, watching their own images moving with them in the dark walls. As the stone surrounded him, the hobbit felt the axe and sword behind him seem to fade to his senses and the vague flickering of things ahead came slowly into his awareness. There were many things of power here, he realized with a sinking feeling. Most of them were weak, but not all; finding the crown might be more of a job than he had thought. At this, Bilbo was forced to laugh at himself. What had he expected, he asked himself tartly, that they would waltz into the ruins and there it would be on a pedestal with a label saying "Dragon Crown, Please Help Yourself"? Behind himself, he felt the axe drawing closer, and hoped that the four behind them would maintain enough distance that it didn't drown out his senses, though he missed the sight of Thorin beside him like a thirsty man missed water. Once he came out into the main hall, though, all such thoughts were lost. He emerged on a platform and looked down into a wide square filled with such an immense hoard of gold that his mind turned off in shock.

Mountains of gold; impossible, inconceivable amounts of gold. Coins, bars, jewels, all were heaped with casual abandon and strewn in hills and piles everywhere. Gems were strung from chains of gold, shining in the torchlight. Gold-chased armor and weapons were flung around without care, cups and plates and bowls of gold, scraps of gold and lumps of gold, even polished nuggets of gold. Other metals were visible here and there, the shine of silver or mithril, the darker hue of bronze, but the gold was overwhelming. In the middle of the pile, barely visible in the midst of an enormous hillock of shining gold, was the gold-encased top of a long-dry fountain, the mirror of the one from the market outside but this one was whole, clear glittering stones sparkling from around its rim. This was more gold than Bilbo had ever imagined could be in one place, and put even the legends of the dragon hoards of the past to shame. Surely, he thought with a mad giggle, even Glaurung had nothing like this after the sack of Nargothrond! No wonder the dragons had been mad for this place! How could there even be so much gold? Looking out across it, in spite of the beauty, his heart fell.

Everywhere in the pile was the weak almost-shine of magic. This task had suddenly become a great deal more complicated.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a decision is made, and the group discovers just how bad this place is.

The sense of the axe's roaring heat drew nearer, but Bilbo was almost grateful for it, although the sense of despair that was so notable in the market hall seemed to have lessened once they arrived here. Looking at the enormous pile of golden items in front of him, he had no idea what to do. The flickering of the torch made shadows dance around the room, but the sparkling light reflected from the mountain of gem-studded precious metals in front of him was making his eyes ache. He noticed more shattered lamps hanging from the roof far above. Nar was watching the hobbit closely, but Vekkad had taken up rear guard and was watching the area with a cautious eye. Bilbo again thought he heard a faint sound, this time from one of the many shadow-filled entrances around the perimeter of the enormous central chamber, but there was no sign of movement. Above them, a small railed portico or balcony projected out of a wall some twenty or thirty feet up, seemingly balanced upon one upthrust column of stone. Ah, he thought wearily, that must be the place Ori mentioned. Looking down the steps leading into the heap of gold, Bilbo shook his head. This sight forced him to assume that dragons were related to magpies; this was the biggest collection of shiny things he had ever seen, but he noticed that every single item had been made of (or at least decorated with) gold. Worse yet, the half-sensed flicker of magic was visible everywhere. By the time a second torch came into view, Bilbo was shaking his head at the scope of this issue.

"Not as easy as we'd hoped, I take it," Nar said softly. Bilbo continued to shake his head hopelessly.

"This is all... Nar, I don't know what to do with this, this _junk heap_." Vekkad apparently overheard, snickering loudly. The hobbit looked around himself in despair. "All kinds of things in this pile are magical. Like this," he bounded down the steps and stepped out cautiously onto the sea of coins, fishing a golden chafing dish out of the pile. Sapphires the size of thumbnails ringed it, carved to resemble flowers. "Even this is magical. Who makes magical serving ware?"

The stocky dwarf snorted, then covered his mouth trying not to laugh. "That's to serve a king, lad. It's made to hold the heat, keeps the food warm, it does." His mouth twisted behind the long black beard, and Nar's eyes were dancing with merriment, but Bilbo felt little inclination to laugh at the moment. "Remember, Master Baggins, this was a mansion of the Firebeards, and a good many of them at that. They've always been the best at the production of magical things, weaving spells into materials, and this was their home. The flower of their crafters fell here to the dragon who's currently littering up the market; we've nothing comparable at Erebor, you can be sure of that." He smothered another laugh. "Though we do still have warming dishes made that way, I must admit." Bilbo thought it was the most frivolous use of magic he had ever seen, or even heard about, with the possible exception of Gandalf's smoke rings. Thinking of Gandalf made the little hobbit almost cry with the sudden wave of longing to have the wizard present. Surely he would know what to do!

The party behind them had reached the door. Easing slowly into the room, Thorin and the others crept in quietly and then stopped, dumbfounded, at the sight of the pile of gold. Ori looked like he was about to faint. The mental din produced by the axe and sword was almost welcome in its familiarity from the road, even though it ruined Bilbo's senses of the other items present. A thousand times more welcome was the sight of Thorin himself. Bilbo felt an almost physical need to touch his handsome intended, but held back. Balin walked forward, eyes shining with amusement, and smiled widely at the sight of the dish in Bilbo's hands. "Having dinner?" he asked quietly, and Bilbo wasn't sure whether to laugh or brain the old dwarf with the ridiculous thing. Suddenly a loud sound echoed through the room, an echoing _tik-tik-tik-pok!_ sound that made everyone ready their weapons at once. Balin's brows drew down as Dwalin and Nar stepped between the party and the room.

"I know that sound," the old adviser whispered, lowering his sword. Another loud _tik-tik-tik-pok!_ was heard. A scraping sound from the shadows in an archway on the left of the pillar supporting the portico drew everyone's attention. A strange creature emerged from the shadows. Bilbo thought it looked like a giant eyeless cricket, pale and somehow twisted. It was clearly damaged, hind legs withered and dragging uselessly behind it. "A _makhruk_," the white-haired dwarf said in shock. "I haven't seen one of those in two hundred years. How could a _makhruk_ get to..." He looked up as Dwalin growled wordlessly. 

"It got here because there's an open path to the deep caves. No other way it could have." The massive warrior said grimly. "Which means Mahal alone knows what else might be up here with us. Or what did that to the _makhruk_." They watched as the giant insect flailed for a bit, giving its loud cry once again, then dragged itself forward a few more feet. Finally it lay still, and the hobbit had no idea if it was dead or just exhausted. They all watched nervously but nothing came prowling out of the darkness after it. No other sounds came from the gloomy archways leading out of the gold-filled square in all directions.

"What is that?" Bilbo asked nervously. When the others looked at him in puzzlement, he gestured towards the creature. "I've never seen anything like it."

"A _makhruk_," Balin said. "Can't imagine why you would have, lad. It's a giant insect that lives in the truly deep places beneath the mountains. It eats the things that grow there, mostly different types of fungus." He looked at it sadly. "Can't imagine why it's here, there's nothing for it to eat up here."

Bilbo's face clearly showed his confusion. "What do you mean deep places? Like, under these halls?"

Balin's seamed face was grim in the torchlight. "There are... caves and passages, deep down, far below the deepest mines. Only dwarves know about them, as far as I know, but even most dwarves have never seen them. Things live there in the darkness. Some are benign, some... well, some are not. But to see a creature like a _makhruk_ practically on the surface is," he paused briefly, "disturbing is a mild way to put it. A _makhruk_ isn't dangerous in the least, but... It is those deep caves that let Durin's Bane pass into Khazad-Dum; it shattered the Chasm Gate before we knew it was there." Balin trailed off as Thorin glared at him.

"If the gates to the deeps are open, we could be in danger, but nothing down there is strong enough to kill a dragon. I told you, we are far from Khazad-Dum, Durin's Bane cannot be here, stop talking about it," the prince spat, and whirled around to look at Bilbo. "Why are you carrying that dish? Do you want it? If so, put it in your bag and find the crown." Thorin looked half-crazed, now that Bilbo looked at him, a thin white rim showing around his eyes. "Can you feel it? Did you sense it? Where..." Bilbo dropped the dish without a word, ignoring the clink it made as it landed among the coins. He reached out and put a soft hand on Thorin's arm, stroking him gently like he was soothing a child. The touch seemed to calm them both.

"Thorin," he interrupted, "I'm afraid it's not that simple. I was just telling Nar, there are countless magical items in these piles. Pots, pans, swords, jewelry, all sorts of things. With the axe and sword here, I can't feel anything else, but before you came... they're like stars in the sky. There didn't seem to be anything really strong here, at least not as strong as the axe. Do we think that's what we are looking for?" Thorin's face fell.

"I cannot say," he whispered. "I do not know what to expect, and I have no Deep Sight myself." Thorin shuddered, a look of despair crossing his handsome features. "I... do not trust myself here. My father would be frothing in his madness to see this much gold, and it bothers me to look at it, even to think of it. What if I am the same? Am I already mad?" Balin shook his head emphatically, clapping the dark-haired dwarf on the shoulder. Ori was picking through one of the heaps of golden items, a look of deep tragedy on his face. Bilbo recognized the look of a thwarted historian, and despite himself felt a pang for the young scholar.

"Thorin, lad," the old adviser said softly, "that worry itself tells you that you're not in a bad way, at least not yet. Your father never worried at all. What makes him mad is that he thinks he's sane." Thorin paused but finally nodded, passing a shaking hand over his face. The old advisor looked at Bilbo next. "If you don't think the crown is here, it's going to be in the Royal Quarters, but we need to decide what we're doing soon. This isn't a good place for any of us to be for long, especially if there's an open path to things from far down. We trust you lad, you're the closest thing we've got to an expert." The aged dwarf's eyes were somber as he looked at the hobbit. "What do you think we should do?"

Bilbo glanced back at Ori and his heart went out to the young scribe. Still, he knew what had to be done, but he desperately hated the answer he knew he had to give. "To be honest, we could stay here for a month or more sorting through this pile. If the crown is here... it might as well be lost. As I said, I didn't feel anything truly powerful in the pile, though there was a sense that there was at least one strong item further in. The stone between me and it made the sense dodgy, though, even with the open passages, so I don't know exactly where it is. I couldn't tell. Before you came with the axe, I mean. But I'm really glad you're here," he said in a rush, hating the look on Thorin's face. Drawing himself up, he said "I think we should look in the Royal Quarters first, it's our best hope." Nar grunted and motioned for Vekkad. Thorin nodded, and the hobbit noticed with concern the sheen of sweat on the prince's brow. A shuffling sound heralded Vekkad's approach from the door, sidestepping down the stairs to where they were. "Ori, any idea of how to get there from here? We can't get up to the balcony," as he motioned to the railed portico hanging above the square.

Ori shook his head wordlessly. Nar snickered briefly and said "Might be I can help with that. Let's get over to the doors next to the column and let me take a look." As they looked at the support for the hanging porch above, the dead _makhruk_ sat in front of one of the exits, looking like nothing Bilbo had ever seen before. His intuition told him that was the right way to go, but he didn't want that to be the case. Nevertheless, as soon as Nar touched the stone, he pointed directly at the archway from which the insect had appeared. Wordlessly, he and Vekkad took up their positions on either side of Bilbo and the three of them moved into the darkness. His last sight of Thorin was the handsome dwarf looking haggard, staring sightlessly at the mountain of treasure while Balin watched him with concern. Be safe, the hobbit thought at his intended fiercely, be well. Then the stone cut off his view as the hallway turned, and they moved further into the dusty shadows. With the stone between them, Bilbo noticed that the deafening sense of magic he had felt in the hoard chamber had faded; now there was only the faint sense of the axe far behind, and nothing ahead. Nothing but stone and darkness and a dread that chewed at his nerves, anyway, he thought bitterly. At Nar's guidance, they went up a flight of stairs that opened beneath a sudden archway, spiraling clockwise around a column of variegated black and white stone which was shot through with veins of gold. Nar brushed his shoulder against it and grinned. "Lovely quartz here, don't you think?" Vekkad scoffed and grinned, but Bilbo shook his head sourly. He wasn't in a joking mood, and he had noticed that the sense of dread was returning the further into the ruined city they penetrated. It almost seemed to fluctuate as though it were moving, he thought, but that made no sense at all.

They passed up the circular stairs and came out in another hallway. The ruins stretched on, endless tangles of halls and rooms and chambers, archways leading to nothing and occasional deep holes or pits in the floor or walls that would just fade into existence in the torchlight, then vanish again. As if that weren't unsettling enough, they started hearing odd sounds. Once there was a scraping noise that Bilbo thought was exactly like a dragon might sound, dragging itself along on the stone floor, hard belly scales sliding on unyielding stone. Other, less identifiable sounds came periodically, including a distant coughing roar that made the red-haired hunter tighten his grip on his bow, but nothing appeared. The most horrible of the sounds was the clear, high, unmistakable sound of a child laughing, which seemed incongruously cheerful... but it came from some unimaginable depth, echoing out of an open pit stretching down to darkness with no bottom in sight. Nar's eyes widened and Vekkad cursed quietly, and they all hurried past the opening. The hobbit could feel the axe behind them somewhere, but his senses were utterly bewrayed by this place. After an hour, it felt as though they had been in these halls for weeks or months; everything was tangled up in his head. Stone sense or not, Nar was mad if he thought Bilbo could find his way through this maze, the hobbit mused. Maybe it would have made more sense when it was lit and populated, but this was like being trapped in a nightmare. As they walked, they would occasionally come across random items in the hall, a rope, a chain, a broken bottle. Once they rounded a corner to see a single green velvet shoe, sitting pristine and oddly terrifying in the middle of the hallway.

After a period of silence, the sound of distant dwarven voices muttering made him think the group behind had caught them up, somehow, but then he realized the sound came from an empty arch that led off into darkness. Nar took his arm and shook his head, leading him away. Vekkad looked around at the sound, and Bilbo could barely hear him whisper "cursed". He had never agreed so completely with the red-bearded hunter in the entire time of their travels, and they shared a look of mutual horror before moving forward again. The torch was burning low by the time they came to a large pair of double doors, closed and barred. Beside it was the skeleton of a dwarf, rotted scraps of fabric still wrapped around it, curled in a pose of defeat against the wall.

"Poor bastard," Nar whispered, "Locked himself out here and then died of thirst or starved to death, probably. No way out past the dragon." He looked at the huge gates and made a face. "Lucky they were barred on this side," the huge warrior muttered. The Broadbeam and the hunter lifted the huge beam as though it were nothing, setting it quietly down then easing one panel of the door open. A huge hall was on the other side, dust thick and furry on the floor. Shattered lamps hung above, and Nar cursed. "How is every bloody lamp in this horrible place broken? Those crystals should be empty but not... shattered, not like this." He kicked a fragment of yellowish crystal from where it lay on the floor, sending it skittering off to clack against a stone column. "Those lamps should be able to pick up and hold light still, but they're all ruined. Every last Mahal-damned one of them." For the first time, Bilbo saw Nar looking agitated and anxious. That more than anything drove home to him just how much trouble they might be in.

"Dragons don't do that," Vekkad said quietly, and Nar shook his head and muttered something that sounded truly foul in Khuzdul, gauging from Vekkad's incredulous snort. Bilbo wasn't sure what was going on, but the dread was growing stronger somehow. He felt like running away, and almost gave way to panic. The others seemed to feel a similar sensation, because they started looking around, then Nar turned and without a word shut the door fast behind them.

"Thorin?" Bilbo murmured, wondering how the others would find them but not seeming to have the words to express his concern. His sense of the axe was almost gone, like the group had fallen far behind. He couldn't feel the sword at all, even when he reached for it.

"Footprints in the dust. They'll see the beam and know." Nar replied, seeming to understand exactly what he meant, and they set off again. "This is the receiving hall, we're near the Royal Quarters. Over there," the stocky dwarf waved to their right, "is the balcony we saw from below. If we go to the other end of this hall, assuming this was built by dwarves with any sense at all, there should be a throne on a dais, and behind it an entrance to the Royal Quarters." He sighed deeply and grinned. "Of course, it could also be the kitchens, as ridiculous as these halls were. I can only assume they dug for the sheer joy of digging, because Erebor is nothing like this maze; even with stone sense, this is madness. I suppose I have to remember they were used to Khazad-Dum, which is supposed to be endless. Can you feel anything?" Bilbo concentrated, and there was a flicker of something ahead. He nodded.

"Something's up there. Fairly strong, too, if I can feel it with all this space." They moved forward, and just as Nar had predicted, there was a huge elaborate throne which appeared to be made of gold wrapped gems. Bilbo could only assume the dragon couldn't fit in here, because the huge gaudy thing would have been the centerpiece of the golden jackdaw's nest hoarded below if it could have reached it. A door stood ajar behind the throne, and Nar drew his axe.

"Let me go first," he whispered. "Just in case. This has gone a little too smoothly for me." Before Bilbo could rebuke the massive Broadbeam for jinxing them, Nar stepped forward and swung open the door to reveal yet another empty, dusty hallway. The sense of terror had receded a bit after they closed the door to the reception hall, but now it began to intensify again. Once again, the group seemed to feel it, hurrying up without a word being spoken until they were almost trotting. They proceeded along the short hall until they came to a small guard station, abandoned and covered in filth. A shield lay in the dust, abandoned ages before when the dragon came. Beyond it, in the dimming light of the torch, yet another hall continued, flanked with doors. Bilbo could feel something tugging at his magic sense now, somewhere down the hall. He temporarily forgot the terror of the place; the magic here felt as strong as the axe after all, as cool and slippery to his mind as the Perfect Axe was hot and fiery. He began to hope that he had made the correct choice. He tapped Nar and pointed ahead and nodded, and the grin he got was almost as good as a backslap; even Vekkad smiled broadly, and that was something Bilbo wasn't sure he had ever seen. A raised eyebrow got Bilbo to concentrate, and he pointed finally at one of the doors. Nar swung it open and the three of them stepped through into a world of unbelievable opulence and closed the door behind themselves.

The walls of this room were set with gold; in fact, if Bilbo hadn't seen the hoard downstairs, he would have thought it inconceivable that a room could contain so much gold. Panels showing the history of the dwarves were carved intaglio-style in gold; runes in gold were set in plates of silver or bronze. Gold covered furniture was swathed in velvets and damasks of almost incomprehensible richness, even after the centuries of abandonment. There was no moisture here, somehow, so they all looked well preserved (though Bilbo suspected that they were so dry-rotted they would dissolve at a touch). The feel of the item (please, he thought, please be the crown) was like a roar now, a waterfall to the axe's furnace. Nar walked ahead of him, drawn close, and Vekkad was close behind as they drew near to a chest along one wall. Bilbo almost opened the lid, but Nar grabbed his hand.

"I'd be a little more cautious, Master Baggins," he said soberly, "this is a dwarf king's rooms, but the treasures of our people are often protected. Vekkad, take a look at it, would you?" The red-bearded dwarf walked over and looked closely at the chest, finally cursing at how weak the torchlight had become. Nar found a wooden chair and wrapped it in what was left of a curtain (proving Bilbo right as it practically dissolved at the touch), and then set the whole thing on fire with the stub of the torch. It blazed up, the dry fabric and wood becoming a pyre almost instantaneously. The sudden warmth was shocking, but the light made the room erupt in reflected glory. In the additional light, the room shimmered like a mirage, gold and faceted stones catching the fire's light and flinging it in all directions. Vekkad examined the chest from all angles, shook his head, then used his bow to try to flip it open. When it proved to be locked, all three of them laughed at the same time. "Master Baggins, anything I should be aware of with this chest, other than the item in it?" Bilbo could only feel what he hoped was the crown, but it drowned out anything else. He shrugged and shook his head, then almost jumped out of his skin when Nar flipped his axe around deftly and split the lid of the chest. As the lid cracked in half, the feeling of the item within grew even stronger until the hobbit thought his head would split like the lid. He reached inside the splintered chest and pulled out a bundle of silk which shredded in his hands. Wrapped in the fabric was a circle of what appeared to be yellowed ivory, set with spikes of the same material. Runes of some silvery metal were inscribed around the interior, and it made his hands tingle unpleasantly.

"The Dragon Crown of the kings of Tumunzahar," Vekkad said, and dropped to his knees for a moment, as did Nar. The archer looked over at Bilbo and shook his head before standing, looking like he had reached a conclusion. Before the hobbit could begin to wonder, the red-bearded dwarf spoke. "Master Baggins, I do not know what Mahal plans for you, but you are clearly his favored tool for something. This is the second great treasure of our people you have recovered in but a few month's time." Nar was still holding his axe and looking at Vekkad with narrowed eyes, but the thin Firebeard was focused on Bilbo. "I can't approve of you marrying our king." Nar shouldered forward, but Vekkad held up his hand. "But I would have peace between us. We will never be friends, you and I, but I see the work of Mahal in your deeds, and I am not fool enough to oppose him. What say you?" He offered his hand to Bilbo, who stood there slack-jawed. What in the world, he thought dazedly. Belatedly coming back to himself, he tentatively clasped Vekkad's hand, and the archer nodded. "Peace between us, then. Good." The sense of dread they had been feeling suddenly spiked. Bilbo was aware without even knowing how that to open the door to the room was death; Nar sensed it as well, as he leaped to barricade the door with a heavy table.

The stone slab seemed to ripple as something pressed against it and the sense of overwhelming terror was palpable, pressing like a hand on the minds of dwarf and hobbit alike. The light from the burning chair seemed to dim and warp. Nar cried out "But there's nothing there!" After that, they all stood for a moment, lost in hopelessness, and Bilbo felt himself crying like a fauntling in the middle of a nightmare, but he was powerless to stop it. Nar kept repeating "nothing there, nothing there," over and over to himself, but after a moment he shook his head. The door boomed and the table inched back towards them, but Nar forced it back into place.

Vekkad choked out "Mahal's hammer, we are fools. It's been playing with us this whole time." He turned like he was fighting to stand in a river, with panic rushing around them. "Nar, a king's chamber must have a way out, find it!" The Broadbeam stumbled over to the wall, and fumbled around until he found a door, hidden behind a tapestry. Without a word, he flung it open and they fled into the staircase that was revealed. All Bilbo could feel was the soul-destroying fear of whatever was trying to get into the room, and the burning tingle of the crown in his fingers.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The horror in the deeps is revealed.

After only a few steps, what had seemed at first to be a staircase devolved into a narrow tunnel. This was no polished hallway, but an escape route for whoever had lived in those rooms. They fled mindlessly, trying only to get away from whatever horror was behind them. As they raced down the tight passage, a booming crash from the room they had just left told them the fate of the door. They heard what seemed to be an elf calling out, a high cold voice shouting something incomprehensible, nearer than any of the mysterious sounds before, then a pregnant silence fell. The dread seemed to lessen as they moved, but Bilbo knew that the creature, whatever it was, must be following them. Mustn't it? He hoped against hope that it didn't fit through the small door. They reached the end of the tunnel, and a door blocked the way. The sense of dread had withdrawn somewhat, and Nar touched the wall as they stood huddled and gasping for breath. "This leads to the reception hall", he murmured, voice barely a breath. "If we can get out before it realizes we are there, we can bar the door like we found it and catch up to Thorin and the others."

"What kind of creature...?" Bilbo started, but Nar shushed him.

"Live first, wonder later. Whatever it is, it's invisible to stone sense. I can feel every set of feet that touch stone nearby, but that thing... I can't feel it." Vekkad gave a trembling sigh and hung his head for a moment.

"As a child, I used to dream I was in a dark place," the Firebeard said in a low voice. "A horror pursued me, and I couldn't see it, but I knew if it touched me, I would die. My father told me it was only a dream. But here I am, and it's real." He looked up and Bilbo thought he had never seen such terror and pain in an expression before. "It's real. I cannot go on." Nar interrupted immediately.

"Enough of that," Nar said with a concerned look as he clapped Vekkad on the shoulder. "As I said, live first, wonder later. We can tell tales about it once we get out. When this door is open we need to move as quickly as possible to the entrance, run through and then bar it. Give me the torch so you have both hands for your bow. Ready?" Bilbo and Vekkad nodded. Bracing himself against the stone slab, Nar pushed suddenly and flung it open. They all pressed forward and Bilbo saw that they had emerged from a small door disguised to be part of the wall, tucked behind one of the pillars along the back of the reception area. The dust was thick, and rose in great clouds as they ran pell-mell through the huge chamber, the torchlight juddering with each step and casting crazy shadows across the pillars and filthy floor. From behind them, down the empty hall behind the throne, came the guttural voice of an orc, shouting something in a barking tongue. With a cold rush, Bilbo realized that all of the strange noises were coming from that creature, whatever it was, and he tried to push himself to run even faster. He could feel fear-sweat slick on him and he passed through the door just behind Nar. As they turned around to close the door, there was a sense of malicious satisfaction rippling out like a wave. When he turned, Bilbo behld a sight that he knew would haunt his nightmares for the rest of his life.

Vekkad stood stock-still, facing back towards where the throne stood. His bow was in his hand, but limply dangling beside him, like it was too heavy to lift. Surrounded by columns leading up into the gloom, the hunter was frozen in place like a rabbit before a snake; Bilbo thought the slight-built dwarf looked tiny and slumped, almost childlike where he stood staring up in horror. Where the rest of the room should have been visible beyond him, there was nothing; all that could be seen was a boiling cloud of shadow. It reared over him like a great wave, darkness billowing like thick, oily smoke, and the only sound to be heard was a faint despairing whimper as it poured over him in an inky wave, hiding him from view. 

Bilbo later felt that he probably would have stood there and watched as the shadow ate him too had Nar not cursed and slammed the door, heaving the enormous beam up by himself and flinging it down into the braces with a crash. He had dropped the stub of torch, and Bilbo picked it up as quickly as he could, terrified that it go out and leave them here in the darkness. "Run!" Nar said fiercely, and they careened off down the hall, trying to retrace their steps. A great booming noise sounded as the doors were tried several times, and then silence fell. Now that he knew what the feeling meant, he could feel the dread that heralded that... whatever it was... rising and subsiding as it moved from passage to unknown passage. The torch guttered in his hand, strengthening his fear. In the distance, he heard a dwarf crying out in terror, and he didn't know whether it was the creature mocking them or one of the others they had left. Nar seemed certain, though, and turned towards the sound. Bilbo wanted to ask, but couldn't get the breath to do so. Something in his face must have spoken, though, for Nar panted out "The stone... feels... their steps," then fell silent, concentrating on running. He was thankful Nar knew what he was doing; even the axe was hidden to him under the constant mental roar of the crown still clutched in his sweaty hand.

Just as Bilbo thought they were doomed, and the sense of dread had begun to herald the creature drawing near, they saw a light in the distance. Bilbo could only assume that the other group had gotten lost somehow; they hadn't been able to follow the footsteps in the dust, despite having a torch. When they raced up, Ori cried out in joy at the sight of the second torch but Nar shouted "It comes, we must flee," and Thorin nodded curtly. Without a word, they all followed Nar and began running. Bilbo thought Ori looked like he had been crying. The scribe had never looked so young as now, with tear-streaked face and reddened eyes. Dwalin trotted along expressionlessly like some sort of war engine, axe cradled in his hands, but Balin looked like he had died but somehow forgotten to lie down. The old dwarf's face was grey and drawn, despite still moving without obvious signs of weakness. He glanced at them.

"Where's Vekkad?" asked Balin as they ran.

"Lost," was Nar's curt reply, and the old dwarf bowed his head. Ori gave a brief, gulping sob, but on they went, passing down hall after hall, dodging the odd objects that continued to appear in the torchlight. "Here," the Broadbeam called, and they all turned beneath an arch and into a hallway, but the dread coming from the end of it made it clear that the creature had gotten there before them. "Bloody thing is still toying with us, it knows this place too well," Nar cursed, and they whipped around and ran back to the main passage. Time and again, they tried to get to an exit only to be blocked by a wave of terror and chivvied along somewhere else. Bilbo was exhausted, staggering along as best he could, but he knew that the next time they stopped would be as far as he could go. He tried to catch up to Thorin where he ran, but an archway appeared before them and they all stopped. He gasped for breath and tried not to fall to his knees, and the others all looked through the door into a huge open space. The far wall, if there was one, wasn't visible. If there were columns, they weren't apparent... just an open, endless expanse, stretching off in all directions. Bilbo shuffled over to Thorin where he stood panting.

"Here," the hobbit wheezed, tapping Thorin with the crown in his hand until Thorin took it in incredulous fingers, "I... can't... run... any... more. Here's... the crown... use it..." He broke off to cough, and realized as he gasped for breath that the creature had led them here. It was waiting for them. The essence of fear rolled out of the darkness, pressing on their minds and drawing the strength from their arms and legs. The hobbit was grimly certain that the monster had brought them to the exact place where it wanted them to be, an open lightless space where it could pass practically unseen. Thorin realized it too, Bilbo thought, and his expression firmed as he took the crown. Lifting it, he said "Well, I will die as a proper prince, then," and placed it on his brow. No sooner did it touch the silver-streaked dark hair of the prince than he immediately staggered as though in shock. 

"The fear is gone," he said in wonder. Then he grinned, fierce and feral. "So be it. If I die, at least I will die unafraid," he said in a ringing tone. The others all looked at him with horror and dismay, but he stepped forward, taking the Axe of Dain in his hands. "I will fight you, filth." Thorin shouted, and Bilbo's heart leaped. He looked into the darkness, and his expression was a challenge. "Come then, dark thing. Face the fires of Mahal's forge! _Baruk Khazad! Khazad ai-menu!_" He took three steps out into the room, and the darkness shuddered and moved. Like a pillar of flame the creature swept towards him, but a flame that radiated darkness instead of light. There was a shape in the shadow, but it could barely be perceived, for the swirling darkness surrounded it like a constantly moving aura of inky blackness. The torches faded sharply, the light receding from orange flames to a grey glimmer, but somehow the dimmed light didn't prevent them from seeing what was happening in front of them. 

As the darkness roiled, a wave of total despair swept over the party, piercing their minds like a needle. Ori flung himself down to the ground, crying helplessly, and even Dwalin made a choked noise. The others stood transfixed in terror, watching Thorin stride out to meet whatever the thing was, axe held at the ready. From the constantly moving shadow came the sound of a dragon's roar, terrifying and powerful, but Thorin shouted back "_Mahal-u-khayam, ozod!_". Bilbo watched his intended brace for battle, knowing it was hopeless but being willing to fight nonetheless. With a deep and helpless pain in his heart, the hobbit realized that he had fallen in love with this dwarf somewhere along the way. Worst of all, they were all going to die, and he would never be able to tell him, never get another of those kisses, never feel those strong arms or touch that hard body again, never be able to hear that deep voice joking and laughing... Some part of him felt the creature's sense of triumph and wicked joy radiating from the cloud of unlight even as he knew in his heart they were doomed. The crushing terror fell on them all again like a hammer stroke to their minds. The hobbit realized he was crying softly, but didn't even try to stop. Why bother?

The shadow rose up, looming high over Thorin as it had over Vekkad. The pale ivory crown glimmered on the prince's brow; the Axe of Dain seemed to shine even in the gloom. Bilbo would have cried out at the cruelty of having to see Thorin fall like Vekkad, devoured by shadow. Would have, if he could move at all other than to weep. He felt like he would rather die himself than lose the love he hadn't known he had, but he hadn't been given a choice. Before the ebon wave crashed down, though, Thorin stepped sharply back and swung his axe into the descending darkness. The sense of overwhelming dread suddenly vanished. The others all looked up, stunned. A rolling wave of shock from the creature passed through everyone, and suddenly Thorin laughed, fell and powerful. "Felt that, did you? Have another, then!" He swung again, and the darkness made a horrible sound like a crowd of people screaming, then the voice of an orc bellowing "_Ghash! Ghash!_". Bits of shadow were peeling off and vanishing, now, almost as if it were bleeding. 

The creature whirled back swiftly, and the darkness deepened and thickened. Snaking tendrils of shadow tried to flank the prince, above and to each side, but he drew to one side quickly and slashed out with the axe. Where it touched the encroaching darkness, the tendrils whipped away and another horrible sound was produced. A long arm of shadow brushed the crown briefly, but Thorin ducked before it could do more than graze his hair, and the axe lashed out again. The blackness rolled back in on itself, seeming to withdraw and pile up on itself, growing and spreading upwards as Thorin stepped forward. Suddenly the beast produced words in an unknown tongue that sounded like the earth itself was speaking, terrifyingly powerful. Syllable after huge syllable rolled through the room, seeming to crush them all like insects, shaking the floor and the pillars, causing chunks of the hidden ceiling to fall. Thorin braced himself and took yet another step forward. Bilbo felt half-deaf and realized he was on the ground, though he didn't remember falling. The others were heaped around him, thrown down by that same enormous, awful voice the creature had somehow produced. Thorin hadn't fallen, though. The crown was glowing and looked almost red-hot, scorching his flesh where it touched, but he stayed steadfast. He drew back the axe and swung again, and the cloud of darkness keened wordlessly... and fled. At first haltingly then a bit more swiftly, the pillar of shadow and the hunched, limping figure within it withdrew into the darkness and was gone.

They all slowly clambered to their feet. Despite his exhaustion and terror, Bilbo couldn't look away from Thorin where he stood, steadfast, facing out into the darkness. Just as he was about to speak, Thorin went to his knees and sang a short verse in Khuzdul. After only a word or two, the others chimed in, and five dwarven voices chanted strongly together. When they were done, silence fell. The hobbit wanted to ask a thousand things, but instead he staggered over on his tired legs to Thorin and just wrapped his arms around him. Thorin looked down at him with deep blue eyes that Bilbo thought looked a great deal older than they had that morning. He saw a new greyish-white streak in the top of Thorin's hair where the shadow had brushed. A sense of wrongness came from the discolored hair so strongly that he almost recoiled, but this was his intended, his Thorin, and just realizing that made his heart leap from exhaustion straight into happiness. "I thought I'd lost you," he whispered in a choked voice. He briefly wondered at Thorin's shocked expression before he decided it didn't matter. He wasn't about to blurt out his realization in front of everyone, but knowing how close they had come... Before he could think about the propriety of it all, he was kissing Thorin as hard as he could, and even Nar's chuckles didn't make any difference. When he drew back Thorin reached up and snatched off the crown, giving it a very strange look indeed. Bilbo was shocked to see where the runes engraved on the inner ring of metal had burned into Thorin's skin. "Was it painful to wear?" the hobbit asked.

Thorin looked at him like he was trying to remember how to speak. Finally he gave a half-smile and said "Yes and no." Shaking his head, he looked around. "Let's discuss it later, _azyungel_. Nar, take us out of this horrible place if you would be so kind. I think we've all had about enough of the hospitality of these halls." Balin, Nar and Ori laughed in relief, and even Dwalin chuckled. They limped back the way they had come, picking their way through the hallways much more easily now that the creature wasn't thwarting their progress. After what felt like forever, they finally emerged to the sight of the enormous treasure pile in the city square, coming out of an archway practically across the room from where they had entered the deeper halls. Balin seemed to be watching Thorin closely, but the old dwarf smiled when the prince swept past the mountains of gold and gems without even a second glance. As he climbed the steps to the exit, Thorin staggered for a moment and put his hand to his head, but ignored Balin's look of concern. "Let's go!" he called loudly, and the group moved through the hall as quickly as possible. Everyone ignored the treasure, though Ori and Dwalin each picked up a piece or two of jewelry and stuffed them in their pockets as they went. Bilbo wanted none of it; as far as he was concerned, after this visit he would be perfectly content never to see gold again.

The hobbit realized that he had no idea how much time had passed since they entered the ruins. It was almost midday when they went in, he remembered, though that seemed like it could be years ago. As they came back out into the ruins of the market, only a faint grey light was visible coming in from outside. Oh, Bilbo thought in shock, it's only evening? When they finally passed through the entrance hall and emerged stiff and aching onto the bridge outside, he realized that the grey light was actually sunrise. They had spent the whole night in there, it seemed. Exhaustion was a lead weight in his bones, but the hobbit couldn't bear the idea of asking for a rest, and he could tell by the faces of the others that they felt the same. As they stood blinking in the early morning light, Ori gasped. Looking around, the party saw that the river under the bridge was flowing mostly clear now, though a thin thread of blackness still spiraled through the clear water. Thorin turned to look and smiled, and opened his mouth like he would comment on it. Before any sound emerged, the dark-haired dwarf's eyes rolled up and he collapsed facedown on the stones of the road, leaving them all gaping in shock. The burns on his forehead were shockingly red against his suddenly pale skin. Ori raced over and checked the fallen prince for wounds, but nothing was apparent. They tried to pat him awake, even more roughly than the hobbit would have liked, but nothing woke the dwarf. Bilbo, remembering the almost-touch of the shadow to Thorin's hair, shuffled over and placed the crown on his head again in the hopes that it would do something, but he didn't wake. Balin grunted in surprise, but looked approvingly at the hobbit. Nar looked around and spoke.

"We need food, and rest. If Mahal is kind, Thorin is likely just exhausted after fighting that horrible thing." They all rummaged in their packs, sharing what water they had left. As they searched, a grim discovery was made; Vekkad had been carrying most of the food, and his pack was still on his body where it lay in the depths of Sarkhubuland. After the two _lembas_ wafers they had left were gone, there would be no food. Nar sighed, and he and Balin looked at each other grimly. "Well? We've almost no food, our hunter is dead, and the leader is unconscious. Balin, you're next in line here, what do we do?" The old dwarf still had a grey cast to his features, even in the morning light; Bilbo didn't think he looked well at all.

"We are a good two weeks or more from the mountain," Balin said heavily. "We should wait a bit to see if Thorin wakes, but... we may have to go back to the elves." His voice was so disgusted at the last word that Bilbo almost laughed in spite of the situation. Nar and Ori both nodded; clearly this idea wasn't shocking to them. "For now, do we think we can get a little farther down the road? Nar, can you carry him? Dwalin? I don't want to be here tonight in case that thing comes out after us." Dwalin picked up Thorin without a word, slinging him over his back after stowing the crown safely in the leader's pack, which he handed to Nar. The Broadbeam gave the other warrior a smirk and they stumbled off down the road. The hobbit suspected they made for a sad looking group as they retreated from the ruined city, but leaving seemed faster than arriving somehow. It was unexpectedly delightful when they finally heard birds and insects again. When they reached the narrow steps climbing upwards to the hidden guard post, Nar called a halt. Dwalin set the still-unconscious Thorin down and stretched, working his shoulders and back and grimacing.

"I've got an idea. Give me your waterskins." Nar said, and they all passed them over. "Wish me luck." With that, he climbed up the narrow steps that twisted away up the rock face. Bilbo was so tired, he could barely move. He felt himself drifting off where he was leaning against the stone. Images from the city flashed through his mind - cursed gold and gems sparkling in flickering torchlight, Vekkad crumbling beneath the rolling blackness, Thorin standing alone against the shadow, and he almost choked and lurched awake. Ori watched him with concerned eyes.

"Bilbo? Are you hurt?" came the scribe's soft voice. The hobbit shook his head, still fighting the images haunting his mind.

"Just... tired, I suppose. Let's talk about something else." Bilbo remembered the fight and what came after, and also remembered his questions. "Ori, what was the chant you all did after Thorin fought the, well, the whatever-it-was? You all knew it." 

The young dwarf smiled broadly. "Everyone knows that, Bilbo. Every dwarf, anyway. It was the Battle Prayer of Durin, it's at least as old as the Axe of Dain, probably older. Some think he learned it from Mahal Himself. I will try to translate it.

Mahal made gold and iron and stone  
Mahal made heart and flesh and bone  
Mahal made king and crown and throne  
My soul will seek Mahal alone.

Sounds a bit strange when it's said in Westron, now that I think about it, but in Khuzdul... well, it's one of the first things we learn as children. The mountain, the body, the clan... these are the things we are willing to fight for, to die for, and sometimes even harder, to live for. And by living properly, with honor, we go to Mahal's halls when we die, either alone or, like Narvi, with our Ones, and there we wait and rejoice until the remaking of the world." Balin had looked up at Ori's words, and was smiling over at Bilbo from where he sat.

"Bilbo," the old adviser said, "I won't put you through a lesson right now, I couldn't even if I wanted to, but there's a dozen lessons in those words alone. I will need to get permission to teach you Khuzdul, but you will learn that song if I ever do. It contains the essence of being a dwarf." Ori nodded soberly, and Bilbo was about to respond when they heard Nar descending the steps, whistling. He grinned at them and waved the refilled waterskins, holding them up at the end of one massive arm like they weighed nothing.

"I was hoping that guard post would have a cistern, and it did! We may not have food, as the birds had gotten in the cram stash, but at least we've got water." He looked around at everyone quizzically. "Everything alright?" Balin nodded, and the moment had passed.

"Thorin is still out, as you see," the old adviser said. "Do we camp here and go hungry, or try to make our way south to the elves? How tired is everyone?" Bilbo struggled to his feet, wincing at the pain of moving, and handed out pieces of _lembas_. Go hungry indeed, he thought sourly. Balin just chuckled and grimaced. "Well, there's Master Baggins' vote. Let's eat." They all nibbled at the wafers and sipped water, and the revitalizing properties of the elven cakes worked their wonders. Bilbo realized that it had been almost 24 hours since he had last eaten. Quite a long ways from seven proper meals, he snickered, and what I wouldn't give for second breakfast and elevenses right now! His shrunken stomach growled as though to agree with him.

After their quick meal, Dwalin spoke up. "We all know we're going t'the elves, got no choice. All this grumbling about it isn't going to change a thing. Let's get to it." Ori glanced over, seeming a bit surprised to hear a full sentence from the famously taciturn warrior, but nodded his agreement. Nar laughed.

"Well, that was easy enough, I suppose," he said. "I can carry our lazy leader for a bit, Dwalin, give you a bit of a rest. But while we walk, be thinking of how we're going to get their attention when we get back to the bridge. I don't relish the thought of trying to pick my way through two days worth of woods without a guide to find that little hovel we were kept in again, if it's all the same to the rest of you." Balin frowned, but Bilbo was glad to see that the food, water and rest seemed to have brought some healthy color back to the old dwarf's face. He glanced over at Thorin and felt a pang in his heart at how bad the handsome dwarf looked, burn marks on his brow and lying there limp. He realized he had never seen his intended truly motionless before; the dark-haired leader was always in motion, moving, sorting, arguing, planning. Just seeing him lie utterly still was disturbing, made even more so since nobody knew what was wrong with him. The hobbit was suddenly seized with an irrational conviction that Thorin was dying, and he slammed that thought out of his head as quickly as he could. None of that, my lad, he lectured himself. He dragged his attention back to the others again just as Dwalin flatly refused the idea of going back into the forest without an escort, and Bilbo was reminded again of how they didn't have Vekkad, who could have probably managed it somehow. He never really got along with the irascible Firebeard, but his skills would be sorely missed. Even worse, if he was being honest, to lose him right when it looked like they were finally making peace with each other made him feel oddly guilty.

The group set off again. The short rest had helped, but Bilbo hoped that they could figure out how to get the attention of the elves, because looking around at the group he knew they were all at their limits. Nar and Dwalin were marching along like usual, but they looked pinched around the mouth and eyes. Balin looked like he had aged thirty years in the past few days, and even Ori looked exhausted and drawn. Thorin still looked... Bilbo cut the thought off again abruptly, focusing on himself instead. He had lost so much weight that his own clothes were in danger of falling off if not for his belt that he had punched new holes into just to keep his pants up. He suspected he resembled a fauntling dressed up in his father's clothes, and knew that anyone from the Shire would think him on the very edge of starvation. If they didn't find some rest and comfort soon, he worried that such concerns might not be totally wrong. If only they had a fire and some food, he thought, then almost stopped dead in the road. Fire!

"I have an idea," he said loudly, flushing a bit when everyone stopped and turned towards him. "About what Nar said, how we could get the attention of the elves. Varin said that orcs would be drawn to a fire here, but I suspect the elves would too. What if we lit a fire with wet wood to make a lot of smoke? What do you think?" Nar gave one of his rare wide grins, and even Dwalin smiled.

"I think that you, Master Baggins, are the smartest of us," Nar said with a twinkle, and Ori and Balin laughingly agreed. With that, they were off again. Thorin had begun to come around after a few hours, but by the time they reached the bridge he was still too weak to do much except complain. Complain he did, though, and loudly, about being uncomfortable, about the elves, about losing Vekkad, and anything else that he could think of. He seemed especially offended at being, as he put it, turned into baggage. Bilbo just grinned through all of it, because he had never been so happy to hear someone else complaining in his life. Gathering dry wood and wetting some in the river (while being careful not to touch the newly cleared water, just in case), they lit the fire and waited in utter exhaustion for the elves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mahal-u-khayam, ozod - The victory is Mahal's, evil (thing) (Khuzdul)  
Ghash = fire (Black Speech)


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is exhausted, and Bilbo and Thorin have a very poignant conversation, but Thorin's discussion of his health is ruined by unexpected guests.

Bilbo slumped against a stone at the campsite, exhaustion sitting on him like a heavy weight. Once dusk had fallen they stopped producing extra smoke and just let the fire burn normally. He couldn't remember ever being this tired in his life, certainly not in the Shire. The dwarves, usually pillars of strength, didn't look much better. Balin's exhaustion had been evident even inside the ruined city, Nar and Dwalin were practically stumbling as they moved by the time the firepit was dug, and Ori was already asleep without even unrolling his bedroll. Bilbo turned to look at where Thorin was laying, and his heart clenched. Slowly he got up and staggered over to where his intended was sprawled out, barely attracting a glance from where the others were sitting. A glance at his face showed the blue eyes closed, though whether he was asleep or resting was anyone's guess. Dark circles marked the dwarf's face beneath his eyes, and Bilbo was a bit concern with how thin and drawn Thorin looked. While the feeling of wrongness was still radiating from the streak of newly-white hair atop Thorin's head, Bilbo noticed (or at least hoped) that the sensation was a bit fainter than it had been. The short black beard on Thorin's face had grown longer in the past weeks and looked a bit unkempt, and Bilbo reached out without meaning to in order to smooth it down. Azure eyes opened at the touch of his hand and they looked at each other. Bilbo knew that his heart was utterly on his face by the look Thorin gave him, but he didn't care. He was too tired, too beaten, and still too frightened to worry about such trivial things as propriety; all he wanted was comfort and something to alleviate his fears.

"_Azyungel_," Thorin whispered, "I feel you looking at me." Bilbo blushed and smiled.

"I must say the feeling is mutual. I have always felt you looking at me, even when I didn't know why, Thorin," the hobbit murmured. The handsome dwarf's faint smile made Bilbo's heart beat a bit faster. He stroked the soft beard again, marveling at its texture. "You are very noticeable, you know." The prince's smile strengthened.

"I believe the word I once heard was _gorgeous_." White teeth glowed in the gloom. "I have always felt rather plain, but you are kind to compliment me even if it isn't deserved." Thorin slid over a bit and propped himself up a bit so that he could look at the hobbit. His eyes shone in the reflected glow of the fire, and he was so ravishingly handsome in the uncertain light that Bilbo felt his breath catch in his throat. He attempted to act as though he weren't utterly smitten, but he suspected Thorin knew better. Still, this business of claiming he thought he was plain... really!

"Now you're just fishing for compliments, you vain thing. You know full well how handsome you are," Bilbo said, with a glare that went completely ignored. It wasn't much of a glare, to be honest; Bilbo felt his mouth demanding to smile whether he liked it or not. After a moment he gave up and leaned forward, taking Thorin's hand. "How do you feel?"

"Like the mountain fell on me," was the reply. "I feel... odd. Like the sunlight isn't as bright as it used to be. Everything is pale and faded, and there is a dark haze over the world." He kissed Bilbo's hand. "Except you. You I see as clearly as ever, and you are everything beautiful at once, moon and sun and stars." Bilbo blushed crimson to the tips of his ears and fought competing urges, to either snatch his hand back and run away or throw himself on top of the dwarf in front of him. Neither of which, he thought sternly, would be the least bit helpful.

"Now you're being ridiculous, you soppy old thing," Bilbo said, but he noticed that the stern tone he meant to use turned soft somehow. "I..." he glanced away, not sure what to say, or even if it was the right time to speak. His realization of how he felt during the battle was like a lead weight in his belly, but he wasn't even sure why he was worried. It was how he was supposed to feel, right? They were courting, they were supposedly getting married at some point (though Bilbo's mind still skated over that idea as being inconceivable), so he was supposed to feel attached, wasn't he? The thing was, he didn't feel attached, per se; that would have been fine. This, though, this roiling fear, this dread of losing someone, of craving and wanting and needing to see them, touch them, know them, have them near... this wasn't anything familiar at all. Bilbo was willing to confess to himself that taking an inappropriate interest in a shirtless farmer or having a childhood crush on a friend was hardly unfamiliar to him, but this... this was new and terrifying, feeling like nothing so much as waking up floating in an ocean with no land in sight. Thorin's eyes gleamed like beacons in the firelight, and his expression was unreadable.

"I have something to confess, my heart," Thorin said unexpectedly. Bilbo was surprised enough to drop his train of thought (which was probably all to the best, he thought). At the hobbit's inquisitive look, Thorin looked down, then back at him. "When you asked me if wearing the crown was painful. It was just... strange. I could hear what was meant, overlaid with what was said, whatever the language used. When the monster said _ghash_, I knew somehow that it meant fire, though I have no idea what speech that is. I even understood that awful final shout, though I don't have any idea where it would have heard such words... that terrible voice, speaking of binding and obedience. I knew that the monster was confounded, and that it never thought that those powerful words would fail to overthrow an enemy. When I continued standing, it felt terror and it fled." He closed his eyes for a moment, and Bilbo could read the strain in the tense mouth and lines around Thorin's eyes.

Bilbo said "You are here with me, and safe," in a gentle voice, pulling his hand from where it lay and stroking the side of Thorin's face yet again. The black beard was soft under his hand, coarse hair sliding against his palm, and he repeated the action just to feel it. He didn't think he would ever tire of that sensation. Thorin gave a juddering sigh, and opened his eyes again.

"This is just the explanation, _azyungel_, not the confession. I do not want to upset you, but... when you said to me that you thought you had lost me, I was still wearing the crown and I..." the blue eyes turned away for a moment. "I heard what you meant as well as what you said." Slumped against the bedroll, dirty and road-worn, Bilbo thought Thorin had never looked so vulnerable. "I feel like it was unfair to hear your feelings for me in such a way, when you never..." The meaning of Thorin's words crashed down on him, and the hobbit caught his breath. So all this agony over speaking was irrelevant, he thought in a flash, he already knows? Because of the bloody crown? He flung himself backwards suddenly, jumping up and almost falling over, before looking at the miserable expression on Thorin's face. Bilbo gave a bitter laugh, but he wasn't sure how he felt, with relief, irritation, and disappointment all vying for control.

"That... thank you," he finally managed to choke out. "I'm honestly not sure how I feel about that, but thank you for telling me." He felt like fleeing this revelation and its corresponding feeling of vulnerability, but where was there to go? Into the forest? Back across the river? Realizing belatedly just how ridiculous his thoughts of running away were, and he slowly sat back down, cursing every twinge and ache as he did so. "Well, that's a bit awkward, isn't it? I didn't even realize that I felt... that strongly... until I almost lost you. I wasn't sure whether I should say anything, but now I find out you already know. I..." he blew out his breath in a huff.

"There is no awkwardness," Thorin said softly, "unless you wish there to be." His eyes were piercing and earnest in the flickering light. He drew in a deep breath and the hobbit saw him set his jaw. "Bilbo Baggins, I have known you were my One from the moment I saw you, but I have loved you since that night you forced me to confess my feelings. Even when I was at the end of my patience, you were strong and forthright, clever and unafraid. I knew then that Mahal had given me a tremendous gift in you." He looked down, fingers twitching where they lay as if eager for something to do. "I am bad at speaking of such things. I am trained in diplomacy, trained in war, trained in rulings and judgments and law. There is no training for the emotions, but I tell you now, you truly are my heart. I do not want you to think that I say that as some empty flirtation, _azyungel_. You truly are my greatest treasure. When you went off with Nar and Vekkad, I could hardly bear losing sight of you. I thought my heart would burst in my chest for fear. When you came back without Vekkad, and I realized that that horror had been so near to you, I thought I might die of shame that I was not there to protect you. You could have died and I would have never seen you again. I turned as we ran because I kept thinking that you might not be there, that my mind was just lying to me to save me. I fought that beast with the knowledge that if I failed, you would perish, and that I could never accept. Thinking of you kept me on my feet when I thought I couldn't stand, it made me stronger than that beast, stronger than that horrible voice. It was only you," he said softly, and before Bilbo knew it he was leaning forward pressing his lips to Thorin's, his chest to Thorin's chest, and wrapping his arms around him. All his upset was erased by the words of his beloved, and he felt like he finally knew what that word meant.

Just thinking of the fight made Bilbo's eyes sting and tears began trickling down his cheeks. "Thorin..." he said brokenly. "I hadn't fully realized how I felt until I saw you stand to fight it. I was... I suppose I wasn't ready to face my feelings." He took a deep breath. "As I keep telling you, this sort of love is forbidden in the Shire. But forbidden or not, this is real, and I feel it. If it makes me a bad person, so be it. When I saw you, standing like Vekkad stood, and thought about losing you... I couldn't bear it, Thorin," he was weeping now, leaving a wet spot on the shoulder of the dwarf's coat, and Thorin's arms were around him where they lay on the ground. "I couldn't bear it," he repeated. The dwarf's hand stroked gently along his back, soothing him like a child. They lay quietly for a few minutes as Bilbo ceased crying. He summoned up the last of his courage and thought, well, in for a penny, in for a pound. "I love you, Thorin Oakenshield. If it be wrong, on my head be it, but I do love you." He looked up into the face of his intended. "There, I said it." His reward was a smile like a sunrise.

"And I love you as well, _azyungel_. May you never regret saying that to me, for no matter how many times you say it, I will never tire of hearing it. Never think that I feel anything but that." He was clearly embarrassed, but leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Bilbo's forehead. "You should sleep. You have been awake far too long."

"I..." At Thorin's words, Bilbo realized how exhausted he truly was. He could barely move, his body was so tired. Still, he got up (cursing a bit as he did so) and fetched his bedroll. The hobbit unrolled it next to where Thorin lay, within touching distance, and his last words to Thorin were "I will sleep here tonight, and if Balin doesn't like it, he can go kiss an orc." He fell asleep to the sound of deep chuckles from next to him, and then the darkness claimed him. His dreams were full of running and shadow, but somehow Thorin was always there so they were prevented from being true nightmares.

When Bilbo woke, he was disoriented. He felt warm, though he was in a strange position. Something was tickling his face, and... opening his eyes, he saw dark silver-streaked hair and realized that he had curled up around Thorin in the night. His arm was slung over a thick, muscular chest, and his face was pressed into the softness of his beloved's long black hair. The mithril courting bead had pressed into the side of his face as he slept, leaving a dent he could feel. He was sure that he was reddening a bit at the intimacy of it all, but he had to admit his dwarf was very comfortable (and he did think of Thorin as his dwarf, whether such a thing was appropriate or not). There was an overwhelming smell of Thorin, musky and a bit spicy, and Bilbo discovered to his chagrin that there was something inappropriate going on in the region of his trousers which made him very glad that he was the only one of the two of them who was awake. This comforting thought lasted only until amused blue eyes opened and looked down at him. He squawked and jerked back, then immediately flushed to his hairline at the deep baritone chuckle he felt more than heard. Adding fuel to the fire of his embarrassment was hearing Balin comment acidly "Well, I see we have been very comfortable indeed! Just make yourself at home, lad! How fortunate for all of us that you at least managed to remain clothed." The old adviser looked like he wanted to continue, but Thorin smiled a particularly humorless smile.

"Balin," the leader grated, "I think your opinions on the matter are clear." The white-bearded dwarf drew himself up in a dignified manner, even as Nar, Dwalin and Ori started snickering. By the seven Valar, Bilbo thought, has everyone in camp been watching me sleep? Balin opened his mouth to respond, but Thorin continued with false sweetness, "One more word and I promise you, you will be sent as ambassador to Lothlorien to climb in the trees with the elves." Balin closed his mouth but his exasperated expression told quite the tale. Dwalin leaned over and poked his older brother in the ribs with one giant finger, grinning ear to ear.

"Come on, stuffed shirt brother o' mine, sit down and leave the lovebirds be," he said. "No harm done, and we've another fire to build." Bilbo rolled away from Thorin, despite the dwarf's strong arm wrapped around him, and tried to get up while not making eye contact with anyone. Luckily the trouser situation had been fixed by the humiliation of five sets of eyes suddenly peering at him, but stray thoughts of what it might be like to wake up next to Thorin in a proper bed threatened a recurrence.

The hobbit decided that the safest thing to do was to pretend like none of it had ever happened. That was appropriately dwarven, right? He set his face in what he hoped was a properly neutral expression and sat up, attempting to restore his propriety which was feeling a bit bruised under the circumstances. After brushing the worst of the night's wrinkles from his coat and breeches, he looked over at Thorin. "How do you feel this morning?" he asked softly, thinking to himself that Thorin looked less drawn and pale at least, though the burns along his forehead still looked angry and raw.

"Better," came the curt answer, but Bilbo noticed that 'better' wasn't the same as 'well'. "I should be fine today." Despite this bold pronouncement, no effort was made to even sit up, let alone stand, and Bilbo privately had his doubts about that. Ori cast a dubious glance at the prince, and Nar snorted openly. Perhaps his doubts weren't so private, Bilbo thought. Thorin sat up quickly, presumably to prove the point, but the effect was a bit ruined when he immediately turned greyish green and clutched his head. Ori appeared as if by magic and pushed him back flat again, shooting him an uncharacteristically fierce look.

"Stay there," he said in a no-nonsense voice, giving Thorin a critical look. "You're not well, you know you're not well, and it won't help anyone if you make yourself worse by trying to prove how strong you are." The scowl he received was impressive, Bilbo thought, especially from a dwarf who clearly wasn't feeling very well no matter what sort of facade he was attempting to put on. It was all wasted effort anyway, as Ori ignored it in a way the hobbit hadn't been sure that the bashful young scribe was even capable of before now. Apparently his healthcare duties as medic outweighed the usual shyness. Good to know, Bilbo thought as he ducked his head so that his amused grin was at least partially hidden.

"Well or not, I won't be hauled about like some package again! If I have to go anywhere, I will go on my own two feet!" Thorin was almost shouting. The baritone voice lacked a bit of its usual stridency with this declaration, but what it missed in volume it made up in bitterness. 

Nar held up a finger and said "Speaking of packages..." as he seized Thorin's pack from where he had laid it after carrying it to the campsite the day before. He tossed the elven sword back to Bilbo. "I believe this is yours." Thorin flushed with embarrassment, but Bilbo simply nodded and gave a gesture of thanks as he picked up the cumbersome blade and tucked it safely into the straps of his own pack. Thorin looked ready to burst with irritation, and Bilbo didn't want to make things worse by giving him any reason to be even more angry than he was already.

Balin shot a glance at Thorin's expression and shook his head sadly, seemingly about to make his own contribution to the discussion, when an orc head was thrown into the middle of the campsite with a thud, fanged jaws gaping and eyes squinted shut. Before anyone could react with anything more than a cry of surprise, elves melted out of the woods around them. Warden Ciraen looked down at them, narrow features expressing clear disdain.

"Well well, Prince Thorin! I thought, when you left with such determination, that you were in quite a hurry to get back to Erebor, but it seems that for some reason that was not so. That, in case you are wondering, is the head of the orc who was leading a decent sized raiding party to investigate your very obtrusive fire. A fire which, I am assured by my scout, you were specifically told not to build, and yet here you are, burning wet wood in a place you weren't supposed to still be. At least you're staying quiet and not shouting like madmen into the woods... oh dear, well perhaps you were after all." Ciraen pulled a face. The elf eased himself down on a log and crossed his legs with consummate grace, the very picture of an elf at ease. Only his slitted eyes conveyed anything other than camaraderie. His archers maintained expressionless faces while still clearly conveying a sense of 'at least it isn't us this time.' The haughty blond elf continued, "Tell me, was the purpose of this whole trip to commit suicide? Did you think we were lying to you about the danger? Or was this all an elaborate ruse, to lure the orcs into your clever trap?" Looking from face to abashed face, Ciraen smiled sweetly. "Or perhaps..." Bilbo had heard enough. Thorin was crimson with fury, and Bilbo wanted to avoid any more unpleasantness.

"Your pardon, Warden Ciraen, but we're glad to see you," he said in wide-eyed earnestness, remembering how he had played the fool the last time they spoke. "It's just that, well, one of the party died, you see, and they had all the food, and honestly, we were quite hungry, and so..." Ciraen held up a hand to stop him, face exhibiting a tiny bit of irritation from the interruption.

"Thank you, Master _perian_, it is of course lovely to see you as well. However, we are not here to discuss menus, delightful as that might be. Prince Thorin, I do consider myself rather lucky to have found you, at least before your other friends," he made a languid gesture at the orc head, "arrived to pay you a visit. You see, I had a very strongly worded request from our king, asking me to find you and bring you all to him." Looking over at Thorin, the elf's eyes narrowed again as he looked at the prince, then widened. "Well well... noble prince, you seem to have been playing with some dangerous toys since last we met. There is a shadow on you that was not there when last we spoke. Are you well enough to travel?"

"Of course I'm well enough to travel!" Thorin stated loudly, forcing himself to his feet. He stood firmly, and would have been much more convincing, Bilbo thought, had his face not gone the grey of old oatmeal at the sudden movement. Ciraen's lifted eyebrow conveyed his opinion of Thorin's condition quite clearly. "But we do not have time to go on some trip to see Thranduil, I'm afraid." As he made this pronouncement Ciraen was smiling faintly, as though this were all a truly splendid jest and he was merely waiting for the punchline.

"But you do, Prince Thorin!" Ciraen's smile broadened, white teeth gleaming. "The king was most emphatic. I believe his exact words were 'bring him to me, whatever it takes'. Now, we can do this hospitably, and you can come as honored guests of the woodland realm, or I can take you all prisoner and take your weapons, and have you delivered in chains. Make no mistake, though, one way or another, you will be coming along to the Forest Halls. I am doing you the honor of assuming you have good sense, though your behavior until this point has left me questioning whether or not that is a safe assumption. Which way would you like to travel?" The circle of archers around them tensed. "I assure you, we can accommodate you either way." Ciraen didn't even move, appearing to be completely at ease despite surely knowing he was in danger if the dwarves attacked. Bilbo felt a grudging admiration for the elf, despite the circumstances; I begin to see how he ended up as warden, the hobbit thought. Nar and Dwalin drew their axes and looked to Thorin with stoic expressions, but the dwarven prince waved them down with an expression of disgust. Balin nodded, and Ori looked very relieved. Ciraen nodded, as though the conclusion were foregone (and Bilbo considered that it truly was, at that; there was no way their small, exhausted party could oppose a troop of elven soldiers), and he looked over at the hobbit. "And yes, Master _perian_, to address your perennial concerns, I'm sure I can arrange some food to be provided to you all yet again. Shall we go?"

Of course, it wasn't quite that simple. By the time everyone had packed up their belongings and the campsite had been torn down, the dwarves were thoroughly out of sorts and Thorin looked like he was about to fall over before taking another step. Bilbo hoisted his heavy pack up to his shoulders and a spasm in his shoulder made him drop it again, the heavy elven sword cracking him painfully across the shin as he dropped it. The hobbit thought for a moment of just sitting down and crying, but even he knew that was inappropriate even as he hopped around on one foot cursing. One of the elves stepped up silently and smiled. He recognized Varin from their previous trip, and she said in almost a whisper "with your permission, Master _perian_?" At his nod, she lifted the pack easily to one shoulder and nodded at him. The group slowly stood up and shuffled off, weary and footsore, surrounded by 'helpful' elves. Bilbo hoped they could get back to the elven stockade without a fight.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party gets to camp, friendly words provoke a potentially scandalous situation, Bilbo finds out what's under Thorin's clothes, and the party is allowed to get a breather while being taken to the Forest King's Hall.

Bilbo had always had a secret (well, perhaps not so secret) admiration for elves, and he had a high regard for the Firstborn of Eru instilled in him by Gandalf and his other teachers. That being considered, he had come to the conclusion that Warden Ciraen was what the earthy farmers of the Shire would refer to as a "right pain in the arse". Every question was answered, if at all, with both superficial politeness and total disdain. Over the course of the day, he had gone to exquisite lengths to demonstrate to everyone that he had little regard for dwarves in general and these dwarves in particular. He seemed to take a particular delight in tormenting Thorin, making sly innuendos and subtle hints that made whatever the prince said sound foolish or ridiculous, implying that his actions were always ill-thought out or rude, and generally being a pest. While the hobbit suspected that this was at least partly a result of the rather unorthodox way in which they had left Ciraen's camp after their first visit, it didn't make things any less strained. The constant baiting and sniping meant that the dwarves were on edge, the elves looked vaguely amused by the whole thing, and Bilbo was thoroughly sick of it.

The group didn't return to the encampment where they had stayed before. Instead, they followed a well-hidden trail along the river, and by the time the light was fading they arrived at a small lake. On the shores of this pond (more of a wide spot in the river, Bilbo thought, shuddering at the idea of large bodies of water) there was another camp with a dock. There was a large boat pulled up, all elegant lines and sails despite the lack of anything approaching a normal breeze this deep in the forest. Around the camp, another wall similar to the one at the other camp surrounded the small buildings, but this one was older and the vines hid it. You had to look to even realize that there was wall there; a neat trick, Bilbo thought, though he noticed Nar and Dwalin looking at it suspiciously. The elves were obviously pleased to be back at a proper camp, smiling and laughing when they weren't under the cold eye of their commander. By the time they were assigned quarters, Bilbo couldn't wait to get some proper food again. The rooms were spartan, once again clearly being converted barracks, but here there were two instead of four to a room, and the hobbit thought that the very idea of a bed was sheer heaven. He went into the room that was indicated and was about to sit when a noise at the door made him glance up.

"Excuse me, Master _perian_," came the soft voice of Varin, "I have brought your things." The elf held the pack out at arms length, and Bilbo took it, embarrassed at forgetting to feel grateful for her efforts. He was about to speak when she glanced up at him from below lowered brows and said "I have a question, if you would not think it impertinent."

"Oh, of course, of course," Bilbo sputtered, "but thank you, thank you so much for carrying these things for me, really it was delightful not having that weight bearing down on me. How is your brother? But I'm babbling... What was your question?"

She smiled a bit bashfully. "My brother is recovering, and the healers say he will be fine. I owe you all a debt far greater than carrying a few packs could pay. I pray you, think nothing of it. Still... my question is this. I noticed that you and the prince have similar braids and identical beads in your hair. I have never seen dwarves wear matching braids, and I confess I wondered what it meant, though I do not mean to pry. If it is some private matter..." Bilbo fought back his instinctive urge to dissemble. She's perfectly nice, he thought sternly at himself, and she's worn herself out helping you. The least you can do is be polite.

"No, it's... well, it is a bit complicated, I'm afraid, from a dwarven perspective. Put simply, though, our shared braids simply show that we are courting. He is my intended." He closed his mouth at that. While his nature would be to natter on about how unusual it all seemed to someone from the Shire, there was no need to bare his soul to everyone he met! She clearly didn't share the Shire opinion of such things, as her eyes shone with joy.

"How wonderful to find your mate! Lady Elbereth has blessed you, Master _perian_. Thank you for telling me," and with that, she bowed and departed. With a strange little smile, Bilbo finally sat down on the bed set there for him with a deep sigh. For something that left him so conflicted for so long, there certainly was no shortage of people happy for him to be courting another male! Still, he couldn't worry about any of that now. He was so tired; he didn't think he could ever remember being this tired in his life. When he was barely a teen and had helped in Buckland with the hay gathering, there had been long days and sore muscles, but even that didn't produce this bone-deep weariness that couldn't be touched by a night's sleep. He needed a rest... he was shocked awake by hearing someone come through the door, and realized that he had drifted off. Looking up, he saw Thorin standing in the door staring at him with a thunderstruck expression.

"_Azyungel_..." Thorin said in a strange voice. The prince looked so exhausted he was swaying on his feet, face grey and drawn.

"What?" Bilbo felt muzzy and cross, and Thorin wasn't helping. "What's wrong? I was just asleep." Shaking his head in an attempt to clear it, he said "Sit down, you look like you're about to fall over."

Thorin sat heavily on the other bed, though his expression grew less concerned and more confused. "Did you... request that I be moved here?" Brows knitted, the prince looked almost angry and the hobbit took a deep breath and tried to gather his thoughts.

"Er, no," he said, sitting up and rubbing his face. "I didn't request anything." In a slightly waspish tone of voice he went on, "Although I wouldn't have turned down some more time asleep." Looking at Thorin now with slightly more awake eyes, he saw the signs of something deeper than simple confusion. "Thorin, what's this about, really? What are you asking?"

Thorin immediately drew himself up and tried to look dignified, a clearly recognizable sign, Bilbo thought, of being uncomfortable. He knew that showing any trace of his amusement would be counterproductive, but he couldn't help imagining how useful it would have been to have been able to warn himself as he left Hobbiton on the trip with six dwarves that the day would come when he would understand Thorin's expressions. "Ahem," he cleared his throat awkwardly, "the elf told me my room had been reassigned and that I would stay here. I had no idea you were in here, and since I was supposed to be staying with Dwalin, I thought..." Azure eyes looked away uncomfortably. "I mean, I assumed... well, it's not proper for us to be staying here together, alone I mean, and without someone else to..." The hobbit forcibly resisted the urge to bang his head against the wall, but it was a close thing.

Exasperated, Bilbo said "Thorin, I don't know what is going on or why you were sent here, because as you can clearly see, I've been asleep. If you want to stay, you are certainly welcome. If you want to stay somewhere else, go right along, I won't be offended." Still half-asleep and by now thoroughly out of sorts, Bilbo went on, "But honestly, I've heard about enough about what's proper. I for one am getting a bit tired of being peered at constantly like I'm about to rip your clothes off and do... whatever it is that two men do with no clothes on! Balin is becoming absolutely insufferable with all this peeping and griping and meddling! How any dwarves ever end up married at all is a mystery to me, if this is how you go about things!" The hobbit knew he was getting a bit shouty and loud, but Thorin's momentary look of shock didn't help. "I love you, truly I do, but I hope that once we are married we can spend five minutes alone with each other without some busybody racing through the door to make sure we aren't canoodling, or I shall go mad in short order!" Thorin's shock melted into amusement, and Bilbo wanted to stay angry, Yavanna knew he did, but at the sight of Thorin's grin he had to laugh at himself. When he thought about the proper Shire hobbit who left Bag End's probable reaction to the image of himself shouting 'I've heard about enough about what's proper' he started laughing so hard he could barely breathe. Thorin was laughing along with him, deep belly laughs that Bilbo had rarely heard and that he cherished.

They had both almost stopped laughing when Thorin choked out "Canoodling," and that set them off again. The next time they fought their way back to almost-calm, they were down to soft giggling when Balin's voice was heard outside, loudly protesting (presumably to one of the elves) about impropriety and shock and the need for a chaperone, and they were both guffawing yet again. By the time they wound down, lying across the beds and gasping teary-eyed for breath, Bilbo was fully awake, Thorin was fully relaxed, and a naughty little voice at the back of the hobbit's mind was beginning to wonder offhandedly 'just what _do_ two men do with no clothes on?' Before this train of thought could progress too far, however, the door opened and elves appeared bringing in food. When they left, the hobbit's stomach was growling loudly and he fetched meat and bread and cheese for himself as Thorin served himself as well, and they went to sit down together at the small wooden table wedged in a corner of the room. Thorin eyed him as they ate, and finally said "I am sorry that this is so onerous, _ghivashel_. I know it must be irritating, and it is annoying even to me, who should be used to being watched. If we were in the mountain, it would be a smoother courtship, but I'm afraid there would be a dozen Balins watching instead of just one very loud one." They traded grins at that, then Thorin glanced down at his food. "When I have given you your second gift, things will be easier, and after the third and our betrothal, we shall be in effect married. The ceremony and contracts are mostly formalities these days, though..." Thorin trailed off, staring off to the side.

Without thinking, Bilbo said "I want us to touch the bell." Where on earth did that come from, he wondered. Thorin almost dropped his plate in shock. After a second's thought, the hobbit knew why that had come out of his mouth. "If the bell rings, they will have to leave us alone. Won't they?" Thorin nodded, still seeming thunderstruck.

"Yes," the dwarf said slowly, "if... when... the bell rings, they won't have a choice but to acknowledge that we are meant to be married, it's true. But..." The door banged open, and Varin appeared. Whatever Thorin had been about to say vanished as they both looked up. Bilbo realized that even the short rest and food had done wonders for Thorin; at least he no longer looked like his legs were about to give way.

"Have you eaten?" When they nodded, she smiled and said, "Very good. If you will come with me?" Shooting each other uneasy glances, they stood and Thorin very ostentatiously adjusted the Axe of Dain to a new position on his back before they accompanied the elf outside. Instead of seeing the rest of the group, they were surprised to see only elves moving about their rounds. Nobody looked at them or seemed to think anything odd about a hobbit and a heavily armed dwarf wandering through the middle of the encampment, accompanied by an elven hunter. They arrived at a small house, and Varin smiled again. "I am delighted that you told me that you two were betrothed, Master _perian_, so that I might arrange for you to not be separated." Bilbo and Thorin exchanged looks; another mystery solved. She continued "Warden Ciraen has graciously provided you with heated water to bathe. We have provided bathing robes to you inside. Place any clothing you wish to have washed outside the door, and it will be cleaned and returned to you by the morrow. I will wait out here. Once you are finished cleaning yourselves, come out and we will return to your quarters. Please be as swift as possible, that others may bathe as well."

Bilbo felt the blood drain out of his face. For all of his earlier complaining about overuse of the word 'proper', the idea of them bathing together was legitimately scandalous. He looked over to see Thorin looking just as shocked. "Er..." he stammered, "Perhaps we could, erm..." Varin made hastening motions, looking concerned.

"Please, I beg you, hurry along and bathe. As I said, the others need to bathe as well. Warden Ciraen was, er, very insistent." She looked a bit uncomfortable, and Bilbo could imagine what Ciraen would have most likely said, and how he would have phrased it. It had been quite a while since any of them had seen water to wash, and Bilbo had to admit they were all rather pungent. Thorin squared his shoulders like he was marching to his death, but turned without a word and went into the small house. Bilbo shook his head, looked at Varin (who had already leaned against a wall and settled down to wait), back at the door, back at Varin, and then set his jaw and went inside.

Inside the small house, a few lamps were lit, shedding a warm golden glow through the small room. There was an elegantly carved wooden screen for privacy, and a large wooden tub in the middle of the floor that was big enough to hold two dwarves (or more likely, Bilbo thought with amusement at himself, one tall elf). Thorin was already behind the screen, which had a long white bathing robe draped across the top. The dwarf was making thumping noises, presumably as bits of armor were dropped unceremoniously on the floor. The hobbit wasn't certain what to do; he hadn't bathed with someone else present in over forty years, and that was when his father washed him after he had come back absolutely filthy from playing in mud puddles. He saw a second robe sitting on a bench and snatched it up with a death grip on it like it might try to escape. He called out in a reedy voice "I'll, um, just change out here then." Thorin's grunt of acknowledgement came quickly. Bilbo turned his back to the screen just in case, but as he shucked off his filthy travel-stained clothes he was forced to realize just how badly he reeked under them. He wrapped the robe securely around himself, despite it being so long that it was trailing behind him on the ground. Picking the stinking pile up, he opened the door and practically threw it out to Varin, who turned and nodded. Feeling awkward, he muttered "Thorinwillbringhisshortly" and ducked back inside, feeling completely stupid and quite wrong-footed. He was horrified at the prospect of Thorin seeing him naked, especially in his current condition, all dirty and thin and miserable. He knew he looked dreadful. Thorin inched out from behind the screen, also wrapped in a robe that fit fine across the shoulders but which trailed behind him like a court gown, and performed the same open-door-and-fling motion with his garments as well. Smiling awkwardly at Thorin, he said the first thing that occurred to him. "Balin would be absolutely scandalized." Thorin's face flushed an alarming shade of red, but he snorted with laughter in spite of himself.

"This is terribly improper, _azyungel_," the dark-haired dwarf said in a low voice, "though I know you are tired of hearing about what is and isn't proper, this isn't even slightly appropriate for first-gift courting." Bilbo nodded and caught himself admiring the sliver of dark-furred chest that was visible through the robe. Flushing, he turned away quickly, hoping Thorin hadn't seen him.

"Well," he said in a breathy voice that didn't sound much like himself, "as long as we don't touch, I suppose it's not as scandalous as it could be. At least Varin is within earshot." A stray cough from outside reinforced the point, and Thorin nodded, clearly uncertain. "Not much we can do about it now." His eyes wandered down to that sliver of Thorin's chest again. "I suppose we will just have to... not look. You know, at anything. I mean, anything we aren't supposed to. Ahem." He glanced up to meet burning eyes that were dilated almost jet black, barely a ring of blue around the dark pupils.

"Yes," Thorin half-whispered, "no looking. No touching." He stepped over to the tub and tested the water with his fingers. A guttural groan was his response, and Bilbo could only assume that such a sound (sweet Yavanna, what a sound!) meant that the water was nice and warm. A shelf behind the tub held a wide-mouthed stoneware jar of some sort of powdered herb and a stack of coarse cloths. Thorin turned around and reached to the tie holding his robe together. Bilbo looked up determinedly as the handsome dwarf tugged at it and then peeled the robe off. With a half-smile at him, his beloved (no looking, Bilbo reminded himself sternly, no touching!) peeled the robe off his shoulders and let it puddle in the floor. Bilbo meant to turn away. Really, truly, he did. Somehow turning away ended up meaning looking directly at Thorin's naked body, and he suddenly knew two things very clearly indeed. The first thing was that he was quite looking forward to finding out just what two males could get up to with no clothes on. He was looking forward to that very much indeed. The second thing, just as important at this moment in time, was that he dared not remove his robe because he was as hard as steel beneath it, staring transfixed at the sight in front of him.

The flickering lamps cast their golden light along the edges of Thorin's entire body, which Bilbo discovered was even more of a mass of solid muscle than he had suspected. Nothing had prepared him for the sight of his intended unclothed. His shoulders were humped with brawn under the long strands of silver-streaked black hair pooling on them. Thick, sturdy blacksmith arms with enormous biceps were covered with wiry dark hair from elbow to forearm, leading to the massive, powerful hands that Bilbo knew and loved already. The broad chest was awash in black hair, descending in a trail across his cobbled stomach to a thatch of dark hair below. A narrow waist faded into thighs that were each almost as thick as Bilbo's two legs together, furry knotted calves and soft, small, almost dainty-looking feet that made Bilbo feel light-headed to see. Scars here and there added character to a body that would otherwise have seemed almost too perfect. Most shocking of all, Thorin wasn't as hard yet as Bilbo was, but he was rapidly inflating and expanding under the hobbit's astonished gaze. He had no idea what was considered a normal size for dwarves but by hobbit standards Bilbo thought that his beloved was dangerously large in certain areas. He snatched his eyes back upwards to see Thorin's flushed face and burning gaze. Peripherally aware of the dwarf's massive equipment reaching its full hardness, he decided that if Thorin could be bold, so could he (though now he was even more ashamed of his body, since surely the dwarf would be disgusted by the sight of him). Imagining his intended's reaction to seeing him naked went over him like ice water, effectively killing the mood.

The hobbit squeezed his eyes shut as he opened his robe and let it fall open and down. Better to get this over with, he supposed. A harsh inhalation from Thorin brought all his fears to vivid life. He knows how ugly I am now, the hobbit thought disconsolately. He could feel his excitement withering at the thought of how disappointed his intended must be with the frail, hairless, formerly pudgy body in front of him. He probably won't want to be married any more, or... anything. Bilbo knew his ribs were visible, and he looked filthy and gaunt, but even at his best, he had never looked like the vision of beauty he had just seen. Like a dream, he heard Thorin's deep voice whimpering and saying brokenly "Mahal! You are too beautiful, I can't... I may not be strong enough to resist this, but I cannot touch. I must not. Maker of the World, give me strength."

Confused, Bilbo opened his eyes to see Thorin staring at him like a starving dog looking at a bowl of meat. "I'm... not sure what..." Taking a deep breath, he started again, moving to crawl in the tub as he did. "I'm sorry for how I look. Clearly I'm not nearly as attractive as you are, but I suppose better to find out now than after we are married. If you don't... well..." He broke off at the sound of Thorin giving a deep, rumbling chuckle.

"Someone accused me recently of fishing for compliments, and now I see what they meant. Stop saying such ridiculous things." Thorin said in a hoarse voice as he looked at him, eyes burning. "I can barely keep my hands off you. You must know how amazing you are. It is unbecoming for you to tease me with claims of being unappealing. But I must not yield. I need to be able to swear to Balin that nothing happened between us, and mean it. But Mahal's hammer, I tell you truly, I have never been tested like this." Bilbo was astonished. How could Thorin think... Did he really mean... he couldn't possibly find the hobbit attractive, looking like he did. By now Bilbo was in the tub and staring at Thorin who was next to it, looking half-crazed in the uncertain lamplight. Shaking himself all over, giant maleness flopping from side to side (and giving Bilbo heart palpitations at the sight), Thorin turned with manic focus and stared at the tub. "Right. Bath. Water. Soap. Right." He practically jumped over the side, sending a sloshing wave almost into the hobbit's face.

They were quickly able to figure out that the powdered leaves were some sort of soap that produced a nice lather when rubbed in the water. The leaves had a warm vanilla-like scent that filled the room as they moistened and unfurled in the warm water. The water was its own flavor of wonderful, and despite sharing a tub with someone, Bilbo was thrilled to rediscover that cleanliness was its own joy. The coarse cloths made excellent scrub brushes, and the hobbit could feel some of the weariness of the road washing away. The occasional bump of a soft foot against his in the tub was thrilling each time it happened but he tried to keep himself focused on the (much safer) pleasure of being clean. Washing his hair while leaving the braid undisturbed was hard, but Bilbo managed it, and he saw Thorin do the same. Once he had bathed himself, Bilbo stood up without a word and climbed over the side of the tub and tried to ignore the burning stare following his every motion. Thorin looked red-faced and uncomfortable, but when Bilbo picked up his robe, he heard the deep voice say "_Azyungel_... could you... possibly... wait on the other side of the screen for me? Please?" Figuring that privacy was a good idea, he nodded and stepped behind it. No sooner was he back there than he heard a short rhythmic splashing followed almost immediately by a muffled, gulping sigh. The astonished hobbit could have fallen over. Surely, he thought, that wasn't what I think it was. He surely didn't... he wouldn't have... no, the hobbit determined, I must be mistaken. When he saw Thorin's ashamed face, he knew he wasn't mistaken. He knew he should have been horribly offended. It was the only possible reaction. He was well aware of that. It was hard to be offended, though, when there was a soft, giddy feeling whispering that maybe Thorin had meant the things he said after all, if he wasn't able to control himself any better than _that_. Not to mention, that treacherous voice in his mind whispered, the memory of just that sigh would make for itchy dreams, and imagine one day hearing it from... The hobbit fiercely slammed a lid on all such speculation, damning his traitor mind as he did so. Nevertheless, as they went out to get Varin to walk them back, Bilbo felt like whistling. Even the preposterous sight of a dwarf wearing only a bathing robe, a sword belt, boots and a huge axe seemed endearing rather than ridiculous (to Bilbo at any rate, though the passing elves didn't seem to think so).

When they were back in the room, Bilbo went without a word to his bed and lay down in his robe. Thorin was still sitting with a terribly discomfited look on his face in one chair, but the hobbit dared not go near him for fear of losing his own self-control. "Thorin," he said softly, and the blue eyes slid over and locked onto his own. "Stop brooding. I'm flattered, more than you can know, because I think you are amazingly handsome. If you really are pleased with how I look..." he gave a wicked smile and was delighted when he saw the dark-haired dwarf draw in a sharp breath, "please don't think me too brazen if I say that I am very much looking forward to being able to touch what I saw tonight." The only response was a pained expression with closed eyes and a short whine, which made a warm tension spread in the hobbit's belly. "Good night, love," he called out, and rolled over to face the wall. He was certain he would be too worked up to sleep, but all too soon the darkness claimed him.

The next morning, they wakened to piles of freshly washed and repaired clothing set just inside the door. Thorin looked less ill, though the stripe of newly-grey hair atop his head still felt disturbing to the hobbit's magic sense. The handsome dwarf stripped off his robe and began dressing immediately, but Bilbo was still too groggy to ogle his intended much. He did snicker when Thorin said "Balin will be birthing dragons by now, best to get this sorted," and went outside. As soon as the door was closed, he could hear the old adviser's voice raised in complaint, and he very intentionally did not listen to what was being said. Gathering his clothing, he slipped on his newly-cleaned trousers and shirt just as Thorin's bellow of "I swear it on the Axe of Dain and by the blood of Durin himself!" rattled the room. No, he thought, not going out there yet. In fact, I may not go out there at all. Ever. I wonder how long they would bring me food? To think, he thought quietly, before I came on this mad adventure I had no idea just how exhausted I could be physically, mentally, emotionally... really, the list went on and on. He knew, viscerally, undeniably, that he loved Thorin. After the battle with that... thing... there was no way to continue to pretend even to himself that he didn't. And the bath last night had clarified a great deal in his mind about what he thought about the more physical aspects of such a relationship. Nevertheless... the prospect of spending the remaining years of his life around people whose idea of a conversation was to shout at each other and occasionally brawl was, to say the least, unattractive. If this was what life in the mountain would be like... Bilbo shuddered at the images racing across his mind. Finally, after the shouting had settled down and things seemed quiet enough, he was beginning to think about stepping out when a brisk knock on the door was followed by an elf appearing.

"We depart soon, Master _perian_," he said. "Gather your things." With a nod, he departed. Bilbo sighed as he hoisted his pack and moved the sword yet again into a comfortable position to carry. They were rushed through the camp and onto the boat at the dock, and it cast off as soon as they were loaded. Ciraen had (blessedly) stayed behind, so it was just a small crew of elves speeding down the rushing current with them. Some magic was on the boat so that it wasn't jostled in the racing river, but Bilbo hated to be on something that was floating in the water. What if they fell out? Hobbits weren't meant to be in water deeper than a bathtub, he thought sourly. Despite his worries, the trip was uneventful, and even pleasant. Days went by as they navigated the river, stopping occasionally at locks to be dropped in level where the hobbit supposed there would have naturally been a waterfall. The rest and regular meals helped the whole company; Thorin looked like himself again, Balin had the rosiness back in his complexion, and Bilbo no longer felt like his stomach was eating his backbone. Best of all, the hobbit enjoyed the opportunity to just chat with Thorin about normal things; their respective childhoods, life in the Shire and life in the mountain, favorite foods and thoughts, mostly what Bilbo thought of as "normal courting things", as opposed to monsters and treasures, quests and vendettas. The hobbit finally told Thorin the story of his reconciliation with Vekkad and described the brutal death of the Firebeard, and Nar told his side of the story as well. It was a welcome reprieve for a group that had traveled long and hard, and been ill-used.

On the morning of the fourth day, they arrived at a dock. The dock itself was a thing of beauty, all swirling woodgrain and carved patterns. Everything was curved, the hobbit saw with amazement; there were very few straight lines in view anywhere. It made for a beautiful but bewildering experience for the viewer, with lines swirling and spiraling into other lines, paths meandering and fresh flowers blooming everywhere filling the air with a symphony of scents and fragrances. The dwarves stumped along like all the nature was a personal affront to them, Thorin worst of all, but Bilbo couldn't help but feel impressed. Even the trees had been shaped as they grew into archways and elegant shapes, and though the sunlight was radiant as it pierced the canopy far overhead elegant lamps were set at intervals along the path ready for the eventual fall of night. They were shown to guest rooms which were utterly splendid, open and airy and awash in sunlight with decorative carvings and shimmering fabrics everywhere. No sooner had they set down their bags, though, than the chamberlain appeared and announced that they were summoned to the see Thranduil immediately. Thorin and Balin grimaced, but Bilbo figured they might as well meet the king sooner rather than later. Best of all, he felt the power here, but it wasn't overwhelming like Rivendell. He could hardly wait to meet a real elven king.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An audience with Thranduil almost goes horribly wrong, the party finds out what they truly fought in Sarkhubuland, and new political machinations are revealed.

Although the chamberlain had made it clear that only Thorin was invited, Balin stepped up beside him to demonstrate that he wouldn't be left behind. Bilbo decided to do likewise. "I will go with you, I very much would like to meet an elf-king!" said the hobbit. Thorin glared half-heartedly at him, but didn't seem inclined to refuse him. He whispered "Sindarin," to Thorin to remind him that he spoke the language fluently, and got a startled smile in return. "So," Bilbo said brightly, "tell me about Thranduil." He tried to speak softly, because the chamberlain had chosen to wait outside, but who knew what elves could hear?

"Beware of him," Balin said. "He is a serpent. His words can be sweet, but they lead this way, then that, and in the end you find yourself adrift in them like a trackless mine, not knowing to what you might agree." The old dwarf's white beard wagged, and Bilbo could tell this was some personal memory, not just general advice.

"He is more a spider than a serpent, I think," said Thorin disgustedly. His face was thunderous. "He is old and powerful, true, but he sits in his hall spinning his webs of lies and cunning. He is the very essence of pride and impertinent curiosity, nosier than Tharkun and much more malicious. Would that we had Tharkun here to joust with him, that would be a sight to see." Thorin's face was grim. Bilbo looked over curiously.

"If you fear deception, why not wear the crown?" he asked. Thorin and Balin both looked thunderstruck at the idea. A slow smile replaced Thorin's scowl, and in spite of himself Bilbo was pleased to bring that expression back to his intended's face. Thorin unwrapped the yellowed ivory circlet and set it upon his brow, wincing a bit as it brushed the healing burns. Afterwards, the three of them approached the chamberlain and guard who waited courteously at the door, and Thorin informed him that they were prepared to be presented to Thranduil.

The throne room of the forest halls was amazing to Bilbo. He had feared it would overwhelm him like Rivendell, but the power here was fainter, smoother, and more constrained. Rivendell was a bonfire, pouring out heat and warmth; this was more of an oven, tightly bound and working. The hall was darker than he expected, true, but wood had been so cunningly wrought in every direction, curving and spreading, carved with beautiful patterns and rippling lines to the point where it stunned and bewildered the eye. Although the hall was a bit shadowy, here and there a light pierced the gloom, shining upon this or that bit of carving, an elegant curve limned in glorious sunlight which cast the rest of the shape even further into shadow. Besides, he shuddered, after he had seen true darkness in that accursed fortress in the north, he would never think a little shadow meant 'dark' again. In the midst of the hall, set rather to the back over a pool of fresh, rippling water was a throne that seemed to have grown from the floor rather than being placed there. The sides sloped up from the base, each elegantly carved, and tiny gems set in the wood shone with their own light, giving an effect rather like the elvenking sat on a throne of stars. Thorin made a harrumphing sound upon seeing it, but Bilbo thought it quite the loveliest thing he'd ever seen. Lounging on the throne, seemingly at ease as a cat upon a cushion, Thranduil Oropherion was the very picture of an elven lord. Impossibly tall, long straight blond hair, handsome as a statue, clad in silvery samite robes of exquisite cut... but then Bilbo saw his eyes, and was not quite so enchanted. Thranduil's eyes were a pale grey, and as cold as the ice they resembled. Bilbo was expecting to be overwhelmed by his power, but he instead got the sense that the elf-king's magic was rigidly constrained inside him.

Thorin, Balin and Bilbo proceeded (though it would be more accurate to say marched, in the case of Thorin) to a spot before the throne, stopped, and bowed. As agreed, Thorin spoke the introductions. "Thorin, son of Thrain, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, and Balin, son of Fundin, greet Erebor's great ally, King Thranduil of the Greenwood. It is an honor to visit you as guests in your palace." His voice belied his words; Thorin sounded more like a man doing an unpleasant duty.

Thranduil looked down and smiled, though the expression came nowhere near his eyes, then abruptly stiffened. Almost faster than could be seen, he was standing, and the room became darker. Thranduil seemed to be glowing, though he cast no light. He shone with a soft, hard light, glittering like a star; Bilbo thought that the tall, slender king looked more like a living blade than a mortal being. In the growing gloom, he was eerily apparent, his features standing out like something in a dream, eyes turning from grey to an icy blue that looked familiar. With a sinking feeling, Bilbo recognized it as the exact color his sword glowed when orcs were near. The elf-king's power was thoroughly unbound now, and he was terrifying. Bilbo's head hurt like a spike were being driven behind his eyes. Oh dear, thought the hobbit, who was desperately trying not to be frightened, though this experience was quite frightening enough for anyone. Glaring down at Thorin, the elf-king spoke in an icy voice.

"Guests? A bold claim." Balin's face fell, and Bilbo thought that was a bad sign. "Prince Thorin of Erebor, you come to my halls, carrying tremendous magic, reeking of some strange, dark power. I foolishly assumed that you carried some dwarven thing of no moment to me. Now that I see you, though, you stink of evil, and an evil known to me all too well. Tell me of this dark thing you bear upon your brow. Consider your answer carefully, for I assure you that your lives hang in the balance." Balin stepped forward, but a glare from Thranduil froze him in his tracks. "I remember you, adviser. Keep your tongue still. I will hear from Thorin himself, not some diplomat. Pray he is able to convince me." Balin bowed, and only Bilbo could see the film of sweat that glistened on the old dwarf's forehead.

Thorin swelled up and Bilbo could tell from his fearful glower that this was about to go very, very wrong. "_Mae lovannen, hir vuin, elen sila lumenn' omentielvo,_" Bilbo said, pushing himself forward and speaking first, leaning around Thorin's elbow and giving an ingratiating smile. Thranduil's rage was checked for the moment as his face flickered with confusion briefly before becoming an expressionless mask. Clearly, of all things he expected, a hobbit who spoke Sindarin was not among them. "With all due respect, great king," the hobbit said, "it is most likely not the crown that you are feeling." Ice blue eyes were trained on him now, and while Bilbo would concede it possible that he might at some point in his life have been more uncomfortable, he could not imagine when it might be.

"And what, master _perian_," the elven king said icily, "would you know of what I am, as you say, 'feeling'?" The last word dripped with contempt, like a soiled rag held between disdainful fingers. Balin hid his face in his hands.

"While not as gifted as one of the _edhel_, I have some sense of the powers of things, and have had since I was but a child. I feel the taint that you sense as well, though certainly not as clearly and strongly as it would be to one of your obvious power." A brief, hilarious corner of Bilbo's mind thought there was no point in holding back flattery if it would keep them all from a gruesome end. "Thorin fought a great darkness shortly after the claiming of the crown. The stench of the shadow is yet on him, but weaker now. It is not in him, but on him, if you take my meaning, and I know no way to clean it off save time and distance. The crown is not the source of the feeling, merely sharing its location." He shuffled his feet nervously. Thorin looked gobsmacked, and Bilbo sent a brief prayer to the Green Lady that the stubborn prince would not allow his temper to get the better of him.

"A great darkness, you say." Thranduil's dangerous expression didn't change, but his power withdrew a bit. The shadows in the room receded. "I very much doubt that the 'great darkness', whatever you may mean by that, was the dragon Glaurung which destroyed Nargothrond in elder days, incidentally destroying the majority of my family and my childhood home in so doing, leaving me orphaned and homeless. That beast is five thousand years dead and gone, yet here is his stench and taint made into a crown to mock me in my loss." He stalked back and sat on the throne, but this time ramrod straight and with the coiled tension of a cat about to spring. All the easy relaxed posture with which he had greeted the group was gone. He continued in a falsely sweet voice. "Or am I so far gone in senility that my senses deceive me?" A cold smile like a dagger was offered to Bilbo, who almost flinched back.

Thorin attempted to respond, but Bilbo clutched his arm. He glared daggers at the hobbit, but allowed him to speak again. "The full history of the item is not known to me," he stated diplomatically. "You are correct, the crown was made of some of the remnants of the dragon Glaurung before the rest was burned. The item itself dates from the First Age. But the crown itself is a tool, nothing more. None of the wickedness of the dragon lingers in it, any more than the fish you eat at dinner retains the ability to swim away. It saved Thorin when he fought the great shadow. The rest of us were powerless against the creature." He was hoping to tempt that same curiosity of Thranduil that seemed to so irritate Thorin. Come, he thought desperately, you must be bored here in this forest, you must want to know...

"I see there is quite a tale here. Perhaps I will hear it before I judge the matter." He slowly reclined on his throne again, then motioned languidly and three chairs were brought for the three by previously unseen servants. Bilbo resisted the urge to cheer and the sudden weak feeling in his knees. "So tell me of this adventure. But do not feel safe; your guest right was revoked when you came to my halls stinking of dragons and darkness, wearing suspicious magics of uncertain provenance. It remains to be seen if it shall be reinstated." In spite of the harsh words and supercilious stare, though, the hobbit hoped that the chairs were a sign that the famed curiosity was awake and twitching.

Bilbo spun the tale as best he could, leaving out as much as he dared. He didn't mention his courtship with Thorin, though anyone with knowledge of dwarven customs would recognize the courting braids for what they were. Nor was mention made of the madness of Thrain, which had been kept a great secret. He didn't specify the exact nature of the Axe of Dain, just called it a "powerful weapon from the First Age". Balin nodded along, seemingly pleased by the story; Thorin was stone-faced, thinking heavens alone knew what under his standard half-scowl. Bilbo had no attention for them, though; he was busy dancing as fast as his metaphorical legs would move with a very dangerous audience. An audience, he noted, who was increasingly rapt. When he described the gates of Sarkhubuland, Thranduil interrupted him.

"So you knew... you felt... that there was something horrible inside, and you went in anyway?" His tone of disbelief was obvious. "Why was this crown made of bits of dragon so desperately important that you would risk a fight with the very cold drake that slew your great-grandfather and half his court?" Grey eyes glittered with interest in the gloom.

"It was part of the treasures of the dwarves." Thorin interjected stubbornly. "We do not forget." Thranduil's icy laughter rang through the empty hall.

"Forgetting is one thing, but please don't seek to insult my intelligence. There's a reason your people don't go looking for Durin's Crown in the deep treasuries of Moria, no matter how well it may be remembered, and I'd think the same would apply to bearding cold-drakes in their lairs." Thranduil said archly. "What power does it have, this little piece of Glaurung that you wear, that made the heir of Erebor leave his home and cross the mountains twice, then go prospecting for it in a dragon's hoard?" Blast and drat, Bilbo thought. This is the very thing I didn't want to discuss, and yet here we are.

"There was no dragon," Bilbo said suddenly, interrupting that line of questioning. The king's eyes cut back to him immediately, the elf's attention like a splash of cold water in the face. "Well... in truth there had been a dragon. We found, er, what was left of it." The distraction seemed to have worked; Thranduil was rapt, leaning forward in his seat.

"Someone had already killed it?" The king asked. "How curious. But if someone killed it, surely they would have looted the treasure. Dragons don't just up and die. At least there has never been a record of one doing so, in all the ages since they were first made. Glaurung, Ancalagon, Scatha the Wyrm... if a dragon appears, it must be slain. Left unchecked, they can live for thousands of years, and only grow larger and more powerful and wicked." A brief bitterness appeared on the cold features. "As Nargothrond discovered to its sorrow." Silence fell in the hall for a moment.

"The shadow killed it." Bilbo's voice was faint, his words falling into the stillness like pebbles into a pool. Thorin gave a soft grunt and looked down. "I think the dragon was trying to flee its own lair at the end. And isn't that odd? A dragon was scared enough of something to abandon its hoard. With good reason, it seems. It almost escaped. We found the bones, stretched out and striving towards the gate in the great market hall. They were crumbling and soft, not hard like normal bones; it seemed to me some vital essence was missing from them. The same hall had orc bones in a similar condition. Those halls were cursed, great king. They were full of whispers and strange noises, and creatures from the deep places of the earth that weren't pleasant to see." Bilbo shivered, going back in his mind to that horrible, haunted place. "There was a fear and dread in those halls. Something terrible was there, something I've never even seen mentioned in the old histories." Thranduil's eyes were glued to Bilbo's face, and a faint expression of disquiet was on the king's face as though he was watching it unfold through Bilbo's eyes. Then again, the hobbit thought, elves have strange powers, perhaps he was. "We felt it, but it stayed hidden at first. We went in with torches once we saw the dead dragon and knew there was no threat from the drake. We even got to the crown. But by the time we went to leave..." The hobbit swallowed. "It knew we were there. It had known all along, and it had been playing with us for its own amusement."

"And what was this 'shadow' you speak of? Some sort of evil creature or wraith? A wight of Angmar?" The king asked, his cold voice brittle and wary.

"I don't know, great king. It was just... shadow. There was nothing to see, really. It looked like a shape wreathed in rolling clouds of impenetrable blackness, but whether that shape was of a man or a beast we couldn't tell. It refused be seen. Whatever it was, it moved in a cloud of darkness and despair. It carried a feeling with it that things were ruined and they would never be right again." Bilbo closed his eyes for a moment, trying to find words to explain the feeling to someone who wasn't there. "I lost my parents in... terrible circumstances, great king. For a long time, years, I would wake up in the middle of the night and realize all over again that they were never coming back. That grief, of knowing that no matter how much joy I might one day find in life or circumstance, that I would never see them again... that was the feeling, but stronger, more powerful despite being less personal. It took all the light out of the world." The king sat forward in his throne, rapt with a look of horror. From his expression, Bilbo could tell he understood this description all too well. "But it played with us for a while like a cat with a mouse, driving us here and there within the ruins of the city, blocking our escape. Finally it brought us to a place it set aside for the kill, came close enough that we couldn't fight it any longer. We were all utterly overcome with despair. Most of us just sat on the floor and waited for death to come. We knew we were going to die, but it was fine because at least it would be the end of terror and pain. Only then did it reveal itself... at least as much of itself as it ever did. It looked like a river of darkness, swirling like a fog, coiling endlessly in on itself, but it felt empty and hungry, like all the life in the world could be devoured and never sate that hunger. It could mimic the sounds it had heard, though it had no voice of its own. We heard it make the voice of dwarves and elves, orcs and animals, even children. At the end, when it was afraid and Thorin had hurt it badly, it spoke in... it was a voice so vast that the earth shook, I know not what it said, but the voice lay on us like leaden weights and pained our very souls. But with these treasures, Thorin was able to resist. Wearing the crown and using the weapon we found in the mountains, he fought it." Thranduil was so pale he looked like a sculpture carved of ice, eyes shadowed with old pains.

"He fought... that? Alone?" For the first time, the elven king looked surprised, even shocked. He turned to Thorin with a frankly incredulous look. "You, Thorin son of Thrain son of Thror, you fought a shadow of the Void and resisted its Black Breath? With what weapon? What could you possibly have that would survive opposing such a creature, let alone slay it?"

Thorin drew in a deep breath as though preparing for battle. "The Axe of Dain, made by Durin himself. Through it, the evil thing felt the fires of Mahal's forge. It is that fire, Mahal's fire, which drove it away, not me. The crown merely protected me from the shadow's lies," Thorin ground out, and Bilbo closed his eyes briefly, fighting the urge to hide his face. Then again, he supposed it had been useless to try to tell the story and hide the powers of the items used from Thranduil. Thorin shocked even the hobbit with his next words. "And I understood what it said, at the end. The words it said in that voice that shook the mountain above us were _'You are mine, and bound to me, forever to serve. Obey.'_ But those words were false, I wasn't bound, and its speech was terrible but it could not overthrow my body or my mind." Thorin paused for a moment, working his jaw, then continued, "It wasn't slain, though; it was terribly wounded but fled, and I let it go." He sighed. "I had to fight, though. I had no choice. My... people were at risk." His hand stole out to touch Bilbo's wrist, only for a moment, but the brief touch made the hobbit smile in spite of the inappropriate surroundings. 

"No choice..." said Thranduil faintly, looking down at his lap. After a moment, he looked up again. With another gesture from the king, the servants reappeared bearing water, wine and a selection of finger foods and a table. Within moments they had set up the table and arranged the items, then withdrawn. Bilbo hoped this meant that they were once again guests, but he trusted nothing here after what he had seen so far. Balin ate and drank immediately, so Bilbo felt a surge of hope. "But that was a fight for the legends, son of Durin," came the king's voice, sounding teasing but with a slightly darker tone. "You must be proud! Surely you mean to have ballads sung of this? The mighty prince, undaunted..."

"No." Thorin's voice was harsh as winter. "There was no glory in that fight. Only fear, and duty, and love..." he broke off, blushing slightly despite his stony expression. "Love of my people," he finished. The look he gave the hobbit next to him must have been as loud as a shout to the elf king, but Bilbo wouldn't have traded it for anything.

"Then I shall mock you no further for it," Thranduil said, and for once his face was solemn and seemed almost respectful. "Such an answer would grace the lips of the Valar themselves. That you fought such a thing and survived is astonishing, almost unbelievable, and I understand better why you reek of darkness as you do. You are beyond lucky to be alive. I wish I knew nothing of such things. Lady Melian taught us in my youth that long ago, shadows crept down from the darkness above Arda. The greatest of these was the spider called Ungoliant All-Devourer, Tree-Slayer and Unlight, but down with her came lesser ones of a similar nature, varied in shape. Many of them served the Great Enemy, after a fashion, but 'served' is perhaps an overstatement of their role. He fed them, kept them as vile mockeries of pets, and they went more or less as he bade. Some simply wandered, devouring all living things that they found. The words you describe, in that great voice... if my heart tells me true then you are among the handful of beings still walking in Arda today who have heard the very voice of Morgoth Bauglir as he spoke to his pet, and that is a thing not to be envied. This crown must be potent indeed to resist even a pale imitation of the speech of that greatest of evils, though I see from the burns upon your brow how it strained at the test.

"I thought in my childhood that such things were just night-terrors, stories to frighten the children, but to my sorrow I found out otherwise. As we fled from the ruin of Nargothrond, my group of refugees came too close to a place haunted by one such. We lost almost a third of our number in the night, silently. All who survived remember that feeling that came in the darkness. We could do nothing but sit and weep as our kin were devoured, and in the morning found only their brittle bones. Your words did it more than justice, Master _perian_. Truly, I thought all such abominations drowned with Beleriand." The king looked down at his lap for several minutes, lost in his contemplations, and the silence stretched uncomfortably around them. When he looked back up, his composure was restored, face a calm mask and eyes lit with careless malice. "But, speaking of the _perian_, how came such a one to walk in the company of _Naugrim_, wearing courting braids with the truesilver beads of Durin in his hair?"

Bilbo huffed a breath. Really, he was trying to be polite, but dealing with Thranduil was just one test after another! "That is not a nice word, great king," he said in a tone of reproach. Balin shot him a warning look as Thranduil's eyebrows rose almost to his hairline, but the king's chiming laugh echoed through the room.

"So you truly speak the High Tongue, and haven't just learned a few phrases. Magnificent," the elven king chuckled. "I haven't heard of your kind in centuries. When you lived in Gladden you were simple fishers and farmers. Are all of the _periannath_ now lore-masters?" Bilbo just looked at him with eyes full of disappointment, and finally Thranduil sighed and glanced away. "Very well, perhaps my word choice may have been a touch uninspired. Say rather, _Gonnhirrim_, then, to ease the prickles of a _perian's_ sensibilities." Icy grey eyes flicked to Thorin. "You have a staunch defender, Prince Thorin. A magic-sensing, High Tongue-speaking _perian_ is a nine-day wonder anywhere, especially one who seems to have caught the eye of a scion of Durin's line. I confess myself fascinated and quite entertained. I am glad I chose to see you, despite the ill savor the dwarves of Erebor have in my halls of late."

"Ill savor?" Thorin said. He and Balin exchanged dark glances. "Has something gone amiss?"

"Amiss is a curious word, apt perhaps, but not sufficient," Thranduil said archly. "Some weeks ago, I received a letter from your father, or one purporting to be so. It was written by the hand of one Lord Grar, your father's chamberlain, and this pert missive instructed me that I was to detain Thorin, son of Thrain, should I see or hear of him, and extradite him back to the Lonely Mountain as a traitor to the crown." Thorin began to leap up, but the elf king waved a lazy hand, not even bothering to stand. Thorin, realizing the impossibility of escape from the king's actual throne room, subsided into his chair but assumed a hunched posture and clearly prepared for the worst. Thranduil ignored all of it, but continued. "Instructed, mind you! As though I were a wayward vassal to the court of Erebor instead of the ostensibly allied king of a neighboring nation! Really, the cheek of it all is astonishing." The words were light and laughing, but the expression on the haughty face was anything but amused. "Not being terribly inclined towards such instruction, I felt it only fair to see what you had to say for yourself before taking a side in this little situation. I cannot imagine what sort of events must have transpired to result in not only the self-imposed exile of the heir of the throne of Erebor, but an actual order for his arrest? Amazing. Is this ill fame at court the result of," laughing eyes cut briefly to Bilbo, "improprieties?"

"No!" Thorin blustered, then caught himself in the face of Thranduil's very pointed attentions. "My father is unwell," Thorin said, then stopped, nonplussed. He clearly hadn't meant to speak, but Thranduil's silvery laugh echoed once again.

"Say rather, your father is raving mad. He sits in his treasury day and night, fearing all others as robbers or worse, thinking only of ways to eat gold and gems as meat. Come, now, prince Thorin," the elf king smiled conspiratorially, "it's all the talk of Erebor and Dale! To make such a commonplace out to be some secret of state is beneath you, truly." Bilbo could barely hear Balin grumbling beside him, heatedly contradicting the elf, but he gave him a nudge in case elvish ears were sharper than most. "Was that the point of this little mission of yours? To retrieve this crown from some forgotten hole, this crown that (I can only assume) has the hoped-for ability to remove the madness from the current king?" Thorin's face was crimson, though his scowl was fearsome indeed. Bilbo thought he had never seen anyone's secrets flayed open quite so expertly. He supposed that was what six thousand years of practice could do for you. "But still," Thranduil said, sitting back and gesturing widely, "enough for now. Where are my manners? You are no doubt tired, and would like to rest. Go back to your rooms, bathe, sleep, relax. We shall meet for dinner tonight, and speak more anon." The three stood, bowed, and walked back to the door. The lights seemed to strengthen a bit in the throne room and others poured in, elves speaking in clear voices as what Bilbo assumed was the normal business of the court resumed. No-one even looked at them as they left.

When they had been guided back to their rooms, Bilbo turned and looked at Thorin and Balin. "That seemed to go well," he said, but the looks on the faces of the other two made him stop.

Balin grimaced. "Don't be so trusting, lad." Bilbo could tell from the old dwarf's expression that 'trusting' was being used as a euphemism for 'foolish'. Balin and Thorin both looked grim. "He wants something, and we still don't know what it is. I told you before, nothing is ever simple with this one. He never formally acknowledged us as guests, just showed us the whip and then the carrot. Make no mistake, he's not made his mind up yet what he wants to do. We could all be bound hand and foot and shipped back to Erebor in irons if he decides it suits him. The whole point of that little show was to let us know that he is well aware of what goes on in the mountain, and what we were hoping to gain with our trip." The old dwarf shook his head, white beard wagging, but then brightened. "I must say, though... You told the story well, Bilbo. I was there for all of it, and it still had me caught up in it like something from one of the old tales! You turned what could have been a catastrophe into a peaceful interview," the old adviser looked at Thorin with a raised eyebrow, "unlike certain dwarves who can't seem to keep their temper." Thorin snorted and glared at the white-haired old dwarf but didn't speak. "I have no doubt that damned elf will eventually get to the point, maybe even at dinner, but he'll make us sweat for it. Lucky for us Grar's an overbearing idiot with the political skills of an orc, or we'd probably already be in chains and packed for shipment."

Thorin turned at the name, face a mask of fury. "Grar, that filthy, treacherous worm! How dare he send out something over my father's name branding me a traitor! I'll have him flayed." Balin held up a hand.

"You have known he was a problem for years, Thorin, focus on the issue at hand. If we don't get out of here safely, Grar is the least of our worries." Thorin subsided, grumbling in Khuzdul, but whatever he was saying sounded absolutely vile, and Balin's eye-rolling reinforced Bilbo's suspicions. He wondered what sort of nightmare this dinner would bring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tharkun - (Khuzdul) Gandalf  
Edhel - (Sindarin) elves, firstborn  
Mae lovannen, hir vuin, elen sila lumenn' omentielvo - (Sindarin) (formal) greetings, great king, a star shines on the hour of our meeting  
Naugrim - (Sindarin) stunted ones, dwarves (insult)  
Gonnhirrim - (Sindarin) stonelords, dwarves


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a feast is had, a trap is sprung, and Bilbo once again suggests something horrifying without meaning to do so.

By the time the sun was setting, the party had rested and cleaned themselves up as best they could. Nar, Ori and Dwalin turned out to have been assigned the adjoining room, so once the connecting door was discovered the afternoon passed fairly quickly. The rooms were amazingly luxurious, a far cry from the barracks they had experienced in the northern forest. Each of the rooms was open, light and airy, with beds recessed into curtained nooks and panoramic windows that looked out and down upon a forested slope far below. All the lines were curved, in keeping with the rest of the architecture, but every area was filled with delicate traceries of inlay, carved patterns, and painted tile in pale colors. All surfaces for sitting or reclining were padded and covered with opulent fabrics. The hobbit thought that everything here was amazing, though the dwarves seemed to feel like it was nothing special. Thorin looked out the window, mumbled something about being unable to escape that way, and spared not another glance for the deep gorge that the forest halls were built to overlook. Bilbo felt he could sit for hours and watch the colorful birds and butterflies fly by in the air beside their rooms. They each took turns in the bathing chambers attached to the living space to freshen up, though the hobbit had no idea how the heavy, ornate jars of fresh water were filled. He dared not ask any of his companions, as they seemed amused that there was no water running into the rooms, a puzzling concept for someone from the Shire.

As the sun sank and the light in the room grew dim, a servant came in and set lighted lamps around the living areas. Soon after sunset, a guard knocked and said that they were requested in the banquet hall at their convenience. Thorin kept gazing at the Axe of Dain as though he desperately wanted to wear it to dinner, but Balin was emphatic that none of them were to go armed. To appear at dinner bearing weapons would be an open insult (or so he kept insisting with increasing volume, each time Thorin not-so-subtly stared at the axe). The prince finally yielded the point, and left the crown behind as well since it had almost provoked a fight earlier. Bilbo admired how he looked; Thorin had taken the chance to trim his short beard, and taken especial care with his clothes. Despite travel stains here and there, Bilbo thought he looked much more regal than he had on the trip, and the thought made the hobbit's heart feel a rush of warm fondness for his prince. The group finally assembled and went out to meet the guard.

As their escort led them deeper into the halls, they passed numbers of elves going about their business, and Bilbo was fascinated to see the different coloring of the darker, relatively stockier Silvani forest elves from the thin, pale blond Sindari like Ciraen and Thranduil. The press grew thicker as they moved further into the halls, until finally they came through a large double door and into a wide open feasting hall full of bright lamps, conversation and laughter. They were led to the high table and Thorin was seated to one side of Thranduil's throne, with Bilbo placed between the king and the prince. This obvious slight provoked a scowl on Thorin that took a great deal of nudging and whispering from Balin to quell before the old adviser moved to his own seat. Balin, the hobbit noticed, was seated at the end of the table on the other side of Ori. After they had arrived and been shown to their chairs, Thranduil entered and greeted them, as all the noise in the room quieted. It looked for a moment as though he would address the room, but instead the elf-king seated himself and the rest of the room did likewise immediately, lively conversations springing up again. Bilbo was looking forward to the food, but dreaded the verbal wrestling that he knew was coming.

No sooner was the king seated than the questions began. "So, Master _perian_, where do your people abide these days, since you fled the fields of Gladden?" Thranduil smiled lazily over as servants brought around fresh, white bread and a first course of roasted vegetables Bilbo didn't recognize.

"The hobbits, for so we call ourselves, great king, live in the Shire, a land in the central part of Eriador, west of Rivendell and Hollin-that-was," Bilbo said, taking a bite of the food and finding it delicious. At Thranduil's pointed questions, he found himself describing life in the Shire and hobbit society in what he privately thought rather tedious detail. Clearly, though, the dwarves assessment of the curiosity of the elven king had not been overstated. The hobbit was hardly aware of Thorin picking disconsolately at his plate through the varied courses of food as Thranduil kept him thoroughly distracted with bits of the ancient history of the hobbits that hadn't survived in their fragmentary records, long before they came to the Shire. Over an hour later, somehow they had gotten onto the subject of Bilbo's studies of the northern kingdom of Arnor, and the historian was fascinated to hear Thranduil's personal accounts of his visit some two thousand years previously to the court of Elendur when it was still in Annuminas, before Fornost was the capital. He spoke very highly of the strength of the Numenoreans' military and martial arrangements, though his tone made it clear he found them rather barbaric in customs. After a brief overview of the court, the king launched into a story from that visit, going into detail about some noblewoman's ridiculous hats which left the hobbit and the elves on the other side of the king all laughing loudly. By the time Bilbo was distractedly spooning a pudding into his mouth made with brandied custard and cherries, he realized the whole meal had passed and nothing of any consequence beyond normal conversation had been mentioned. Glancing over, Thorin looked like he was ready to explode and the others simply looked bored (with the exception of Balin, who met Bilbo's eyes and glanced at Thorin and back with an expression of alarmed concern). He risked reaching out to hold Thorin's hand, attempting to communicate the need for calm, and the clutch of thick fingers on his told him just how close the prince was to losing his temper. The keen eyes of the elf king were surely missing none of this interaction, Bilbo suspected, but there was nothing for it. Conversation seemed to reach a lull, and Bilbo was wracking his mind for a way to bring up something to lead into the topic of the group departing, when Thranduil abruptly stood. The room immediately quieted, aside from the scraping of chairs as everyone else stood as well.

"Good people, though I withdraw, please continue to eat, drink, and rejoice as you will," the king said in a clear voice, but the words were clearly a time-worn formula, since none of the attendees at the feast reacted. With that, Thranduil nodded at Bilbo, smirked at Thorin, and swept off in a flourish of elaborate robes, leaving the hobbit sitting with his mouth open. Thorin leaned over.

"This is all a total waste of time," the prince said furiously, short beard bristling in anger and ignoring Bilbo's hurried shushing. "We'll never get anything out of..." The sound of a soft cough from behind them made them both turn sharply to see a thin Sindar with a polite smile but mocking eyes. As they turned, he bowed smoothly.

"The king requests your presence in his chambers, prince Thorin, and yours as well, Master _perian_," the elf said with a gesture to the door through which Thranduil had passed. Balin stood up, but stopped at a gesture from the elf. "I am sorry, good sir, only the two named were requested." Thorin's brows drew down, but Bilbo clutched his hand trying to communicate that this was a deliberate provocation. The prince's intake of breath and eye roll seemed to indicate that the message was received, but nothing was said and Balin simply bowed and walked away. Despite the thunderous expression and audible grumbling, Bilbo noted that Thorin walked beside him without the usual stomping steps he used when truly angry. For the first time, the hobbit wondered how much of the irascibility the prince had shown since their arrival was actual temper and how much was simply for show. They passed down a short hallway and emerged in a somewhat splendid room filled with hanging lamps and decorative fabric hangings, seats and small tables arranged to make a pleasant reception area. Closed doors led into other areas. A large table sat against one wall with a selection of items set out on it, but the centerpiece was Thranduil standing at a huge window, staring out into the darkness (and, Bilbo noted with amusement, obviously posing for maximum effect). As they entered the king turned slowly, drawing out the moment, which was interrupted by a loud snort from Thorin.

"Very pretty. Just tell us what you want, then, and get on with it," Thorin demanded harshly. Bilbo narrowed his eyes and glanced over, and Thorin's scowl was unmoved but somehow rang false, lending more weight to the hobbit's suspicion that this obstreperous behavior was a negotiating tactic. Clearly the king was aware of it, given his amused smile, and Bilbo realized just how out of his depth he was in these negotiations.

"Ah, Prince Thorin, always so gracious," came the cool reply. "I see you have left your crown behind. It comforts me to know that you trust my words," the king said with a smile that might have been friendly if it hadn't been accompanied by predatory eyes. Thorin gave an irritated huff and glared up at the king. Bilbo was struck by a sudden realization that the two were not dissimilar in some respects, despite their radically different appearances. Both had practically unbreakable wills, and both relished the conflict, though their individual negotiating styles were diametrically opposed. He resolved to pay close attention in this meeting; hopefully he wouldn't be expected to contribute.

"I don't need to trust you, which is good because I don't." Thorin bared his teeth in what could be considered a grin only in dim light. "It doesn't matter what you want, really, because I don't have anything to do with making decisions for Erebor. I'm just a..." Whatever Thorin considered himself as was lost in Thranduil's chiming laughter.

"Oh really, is this the story you intend to tell me? Poor little dispossessed dwarf prince, cast adrift on the tide, exiled from his home? How stupid you must think me," Thranduil retorted. "Allow me to recap the story as I understand it. You skulk through my lands with a senior diplomat, a high ranking officer in the army, a stonekeeper, a ritual scribe, and the eldest son of a clan-lord," the king said, striding over to a side table where a flagon of wine stood. "You pass through the Misty Mountains which are currently a-boil with orcs, trolls and wargs. After a brief stay, you come back through those same mountains mysteriously unharmed, yet now you are carrying a First Age weapon of tremendous power and escorting a _perian_ loremaster to whom you are betrothed... assuming that these beads and braids are not all some elaborate ruse." Bilbo felt insulted for a moment, but Thorin's instantaneous offended expression made the hobbit very glad indeed that the prince had left his axe in their chambers. "You then pass back through our realm, bring a wounded elf to safety for reasons that no-one understands, threaten to fight our entire northern army, and head north to a city that was abandoned for the very good reason that a dragon had taken it. You then proceed to go inside, you somehow survive a fight with a legendary horror from elder days, and not only do you manage to survive but come out carrying yet another object of immense power, having somewhere along the way misplaced the son of the clan-lord. You reappear on our northern border reeking of dark magic. And after this entire affair, you dare to bring not one but both of those items into the very heart of my kingdom, but despite all this and your being the crown prince of the realm to my north, you expect me to believe that you have no negotiating authority? And yet you accuse me of lying. Laughable, really." With that he smiled graciously and extended a goblet to Thorin. "Wine?"

Thorin took the wine without comment, but passed the goblet to Bilbo and looked at Thranduil with raised eyebrows and a slight smirk behind his beard. The king stared for a long moment in irritation, grey eyes snapping, but finally sighed and passed another of the goblets to Thorin. "You certainly like to hear yourself talk, don't you," was all the dwarf said, staring in apparently disinterested disgust down at the objects laid out for display on the table. "What's all this, then? Servants not cleaning up properly?"

Thranduil's eyes closed briefly. "You are most profoundly annoying when you attempt to be clever," the king muttered, walking over to the table. "But since you mention it, no. I would value your opinion on these items, since you happen to be here." Bilbo sniffed the wine, but detected nothing unusual, so he risked a sip; it was very good. He saw Thorin's eyes glitter briefly and refocused his attention on the verbal sparring match in progress. "Tell me, what do you think of this?" The king passed a lump of metal to the dwarf. Thorin held it up, looked at it, and finally tasted it, exactly as he had the chunk of mystery metal in Bilbo's sitting room months ago.

"It's _prukh_, garbage," Thorin said bluntly. "It's iron, but there's three or four flavors of iron in it, and it's been recast out of scrap instead of smelted from ore. Can't tell where it's from, even; could be anywhere. Some of it's melted rust," he said, making a soft spitting noise, then took a sip of wine. "If you paid for that, you got robbed. It won't make good steel, or hold an edge very well; best you could hope for out of that would be nails and cookware." Thranduil made an interested sound, but didn't comment.

"What about this?" the king said, passing over another chunk of metal. Thorin went through the same process, tasting it, making a face and then tasting it again.

"Better," he said. "Still nothing special, but this was properly smelted, the ore's just not very good. This is Iron Hills ore, second or third grade. You could get a decent steel out of this if you tried hard enough." A third piece of metal was passed over and Thorin rolled his eyes, but tasted it and smiled.

"Now this is good," he said with what Bilbo thought was the first honest smile he'd seen on the dwarf since dinner began. "This is proper iron, the real stuff; this is from Erebor, but it's old, probably from the high northwest shaft that mined out thirty years back. Surprised you haven't used it by now, but whoever is selling you that other stuff is a thief. We've told you for years, Erebor iron is the best." Thranduil nodded but didn't react, and the hobbit sensed a trap. Thorin seemed to feel something was amiss too, but Bilbo knew that Thorin took the 'run in and fight' approach to pretty much everything, so he wasn't surprised that this would be no different.

"While we are examining things," Thranduil said while passing over a shallow dish full of some sort of gummy white powder, "tell me about this." Thorin cut his eyes at the king, but Thranduil's expression was as tranquil as if he were asleep. Only the pale grey eyes were alive.

"I thought you were here to badger me into something, didn't realize you just wanted a free assay," the prince grinned. The king stared back at him impassively and Thorin shrugged and took the dish. Thorin touched the white crystals gently, then picked up a few of the gummy crystals and rubbed them. Bilbo thought it was salt, but it left a film on Thorin's fingers. The prince sniffed at it and drew back, then sprinkled a bit onto a wooden plate and spilled a drop of his wine into it. Immediately, the pile turned rosy colored and the wine was gone. "Alum", he said, "not the best quality. Crystals are ragged, color's off, far too wet. You should store it in tighter barrels, when it's gummy like that it really should go back in the kiln." Thranduil nodded without comment again, but Thorin wasn't done. He turned on the king with a dark look. "What's this about? If there's a second source of alum, tell me now. I won't have..." Bilbo racked his mind, since alum sounded familiar, then he remembered it was used in a lot of different industries, especially for dying cloth. He also remembered that Arnor had fought two wars over sources of alum with neighboring kingdoms of men.

"Peace, Prince Thorin, we will discuss all of this once we are done. And this one?" was all the king would say, despite Thorin's huff of frustration and furious scowl. He passed over another dish of crystals, but the hobbit could see that these were smaller and whiter. Thorin barely stirred them with a finger. 

"More alum, properly stored this time. Dry, even crystals, good color, fine ground. What's all this about? You didn't drag me in here to tell you what anyone with half an eye could know." Thranduil smiled like a tiger.

"Why because I value your honest opinion, of course. So hard to get an honest opinion sometimes." The king sat, arranging his robes about himself. The hobbit sat gingerly, and Thorin sank heavily into one of the couches next to Bilbo. He almost leaped up again when Thranduil continued, "What is most interesting is that all of those items came from Erebor in trade, and we were charged the same for each. Curious, don't you think?" The hobbit sighed; his instincts had been correct, but the trap was only visible once sprung.

"Erebor would never send out such garbage!" Thorin shouted, and Bilbo could tell that he really was upset this time. "How dare you imply..." Thranduil's voice cut across the roar like a knife, icy and hissing.

"I do not imply anything, I state it, Prince Thorin. You were quite clear, and quite correct; whoever was selling me those things was robbing me. It is simply unfortunate that it was your own Erebor doing the robbing." Thranduil's voice had sunk, but Thorin had fallen silent and the hobbit thought he looked utterly miserable. The lights in the room seemed to dim as they had in the throne room when the elf king became angry. "The good iron was old, as you surmised; indeed, you told the whole tale for me. It was from a shipment of iron from twenty years ago, and it was indeed quite good, like the shipments before it. The decent quality iron was from ten years ago, when your father first became greed-addled. The first sample, the 'garbage' as you called it, was sent last month. The wet alum, coincidentally weighing twice what it would dry, was in the same shipment as the scrap iron... sold by weight, of course, as you well know. Lower quality as well, and moist to make it more expensive. Erebor seems to think that I am either senile, asleep, or distracted, to play such foolish games. If you do not find trade with the woodland realm beneficial, you have but to say the word, and you can all eat each other without our food for all I care, but I will not be lied to and robbed."

Thorin rubbed his face with both hands and looked down. Bilbo dared to lean over and touch his shoulder, trying to offer support and comfort, but there was no reaction. Thranduil sat, glaring, waiting for the dwarf prince to respond, but Thorin seemed lost in thought, staring at his own hands. After a moment he shook himself and looked back up. "I do not say that what you tell me is true," he began, but raised a hand as Thranduil leaned forward furiously. "But I do not say that you lie. What I say is this: I will investigate this matter when I get to Erebor. I do not ask any payment for this service, because if true," he sighed, "it is Erebor's shame that it has come to such a pass." Bilbo knew that his beloved feared the elf-king's words were true, and his heart hurt for him. "I am in no good favor at court right now, though I promise you that Grar's letter is unknown to my father; I am not truly branded a traitor. But if and when I become king, this sort of situation will never arise again, I will see to it. And you will be compensated for your losses. Greenwood the Great has been a good partner to us for centuries, and it is not fitting that you should be treated so. I, Thorin son of Thrain of the line of Durin say this." From Bilbo's studies of protocol with Balin, he recognized the formal statement; Thorin's declaration was as binding as law to him. The king seemed to know that as well, since he visibly relaxed. Thorin went on sourly, "And I am quite sure that you have an idea of how you would like me to make amends, so let's hear it." Thranduil's smile reflected actual amusement for the first time.

"How odd that you should say so," the elf king said. "Nevertheless, I have had a few ideas, and I'm curious as to your opinion of them." Bilbo sat in amazement as the two bickered (relatively good-naturedly, Bilbo was shocked to note) through several hours of circling negotiation about things he had never heard of, a bewildering array of types of jewels and colors of fabrics and specific dyes, minerals and metals and woods, particular grades of this and that to the point where his head was left spinning in amazement. In all his study of history, he had never considered just how much of royalty's time must be spent thinking about trade goods and commerce; wars came and went, but trade was every day. Even more confusing was the variety of measurements that the two seemed to effortlessly keep straight in their minds, carats and pounds and feet, rods and hogsheads and ells... Bilbo could only assume that every system of measuring anything that had ever been used in the history of Arda was not only still in use, but appeared in this conversation in some capacity. At the end of the discussion, the hobbit assumed it must be past midnight, but the king and the prince seemed hardly to register the lateness of the hour. Finally, though, Thranduil rose and said "This has been a good discussion for us both, I think. I will have someone see you to your rooms, and tomorrow we can discuss your travel arrangements." Thorin nodded.

"Have your scribes write up what we have discussed. I can't sign them now, obviously, but they will go back with me to Erebor for review with the guildmasters." Thorin scowled for good measure, though Bilbo sensed he was rather pleased. "As usual, you've robbed us blind. No more than I would expect from an elf." Thranduil's smirk was half-hearted.

"Let's have no more talk of robbing, if you please," The elf-king said icily, "you bargain like a dwarf, and that is hardly the compliment you seem to find it. It is good to go to bed while my kingdom can still afford to own one." This ritual exchange of insults completed, Thorin and Thranduil nodded at each other and the king looked over at Bilbo. "My apologies, Master... hobbit, was it? I invited you along tonight in hopes that we might continue our discussion, but your betrothed was as stone-headed as all his kin, and the conversation quite got away from me. Perhaps this little bargaining session was instructive, though, especially if you are to be Prince Consort one day." With that, Thranduil departed in a swirl of rich fabric and the guard appeared at the door. Bilbo was able to decode this fairly easily, though, and realized that he had been invited specifically to hear this discussion, which was an unexpected kindness on the part of the elf king. Not for the first time, the little historian was confounded by how quickly his life had been upended; he was living peacefully in his smial for years, being a quiet, respectable hobbit, and now suddenly he was to be the consort of a king and seeing monsters out of legends and visiting with elvish royalty... it was all too much. Trying not to give in to feeling overwhelmed, he walked closer to Thorin as they followed the guard back to their suite.

When they arrived back at the rooms, Balin was waiting for them and appeared to have worked himself into quite a state worrying about what was going on. It took a half hour of soothing on the part of both Bilbo and Thorin to calm him down and convince him that they were neither about to be shipped off in chains nor had Thorin accidentally deeded over the entire mountain to Thranduil in some deal gone wrong. He was shocked to hear of the low-quality goods being sent out for trade, though unlike Thorin he seemed to feel that there was some error or mistake to blame rather than old-fashioned greed. Thorin finally said something which surprised Bilbo. "Something is bothering me, though, Balin. I wish I hadn't disdained so much of the treasure in Sarkhubuland." At Balin's raised eyebrows, Thorin stated "I have nothing to give Thranduil for a guest-gift." Balin looked like he was about to speak, but the hobbit interrupted.

"We should give him the sword." Bilbo said without thinking. Thorin and Balin turned equally shocked gazes to the hobbit, and Bilbo wondered what sort of mess he had made now. "I can't use it, it's far too long even if I could fight with a sword, which of course I can't. It was made by elves, so it would suit him, and even moreso it is magical, so he can't claim we were being miserly with the crown and axe." Thorin's face was full of horrified misery.

"Do you reject me, then?" he said softly. Dear gods, Bilbo thought, not this again.

"Green Lady, no! Whatever on earth would..." Balin coughed and gave the hobbit an apologetic look.

"To give away one's courting gifts is considered grave disrespect, Mast... Bilbo, and doubly so since it is the only one you have received. If you gave away your only gift to another, it would be seen by any dwarf as ending the courtship, and ending it with insult at that." Thorin's puzzled look from one to the other resolved as he remembered, yet again, that Bilbo wasn't raised in dwarven culture to know these things. Balin went on, "You are right in one sense; for if the sword weren't yours as a courting gift it would be perfect, but I'm afraid it's quite impossible."

"Even if we both agree that it doesn't mean disrespect?" Balin hesitated, but nodded. "Sorry then, just a thought I had." Bilbo said. Thorin looked lost in thought for a moment, but roused himself to kiss the hobbit goodnight, and they all went to their beds. Why, he wondered, did everything to do with dwarven customs have to be so bloody difficult? As he lay in the bed, listening to Thorin's soft snores, he thought again about just how completely his life had upended itself. He had gone from blithely assuming that he would spend the rest of his life alone to wishing that he was already married to a dwarf nearby, and all in less than half a year. A reflexive burst of shame came up, but he laughed at himself now; he was never again going to go back to being that frightened hobbit that spent days crying at the idea of two men together, at least not if he could help it. Especially since even then, he was never sure if he was more afraid that he might be one of those men or that he might not. He hadn't known that Thorin was what he was missing, but having found him he couldn't go back to being what he was, even if had wanted to... which he emphatically did not. He wondered where Gandalf was, and what he was doing, and if the wizard had any idea how much difference his advice had made in the life of one little hobbit from the Shire.

When he finally fell asleep, his dreams were strange. First he was back in the dark halls of Sarkhubuland, searching through the shadows for Thorin, but all he heard was Vekkad's final whimper. He was getting more and more afraid until he came around a corner and saw his beloved. He ran to him, and strong arms wrapped around him and brought him a sense of comfort and safety that seemed to bring light to the halls, and when he looked up they were back outside in a clearing in the woods. A sound drew his attention, and he saw Gandalf in the distance fighting a shadow person, staff blazing as the shadow tried to stab him with a huge sword. Looking back at Thorin, he saw that his lover was pointing off into the distance, and when he tried to see what Thorin was pointing to, a sharp mountain thrust up out of the hills. Was that Erebor? When he looked back, Thorin was staring down at him sadly and Bilbo realized that he had no mouth. Ropes appeared and dragged the dwarf away, leaving Bilbo standing in the clearing screaming. He woke up with a shock and almost ran to check on his beloved, but the sound of his snores was unchanged and it was still dark. Unaccountably chilled, it took the hobbit a long time to fall back to sleep, but when he awakened, the birds were singing and he didn't remember his dreams.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which an unexpected gift is received, Balin learns the limits of his verbal skill, much is learned of dwarven lore in general, and Thranduil is shocked into silence for once in his life.

After servants had appeared just after sunrise with a breakfast of bread, honey, cheeses and more of the citrus beverages they had had in the army camp, Thorin called the group together. He called Bilbo to stand with him at the front, and the hobbit wondered what was going on. This reminded him of the presentation ceremony of the bead and sword, but Thorin hadn't mentioned anything to him about another ritual to be performed. As soon as he arrived, though, Thorin reached into his pack and produced a small coronet of mithril, set with emeralds and sapphires carved into leaves and flowers, with diamond berries; it was astonishingly beautiful, though far too lavish for hobbit tastes. He extended it to Bilbo, smiling.

"The second gift of courting shows the life that I wish to give you. I, Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, offer to you Bilbo Baggins, son of Bungo Baggins of the Shire, this crown, to show that I wish you not only as my mate but as my consort, and that the house I bring you is my entire kingdom. May the forges be our hearth, the mountain be our bed, and the love of our people be our heart." While Bilbo could have strangled Thorin for surprising him like this, at the same time, he knew he would accept the gaudy thing before the prince finished speaking. In spite of this knowledge, he thought it was well within his rights to make him sweat a bit. He leaned over with pursed lips and looked at the crown closely from every angle, at one point even moving Thorin's hands a bit to make the faceted jewels catch the light. Nar was the first to catch on, and his quiet snicker made the others start to hide their grins. Balin looked scandalized, of course, but the hobbit knew all too well that Balin was as easy to scandalize as any Shire matron. Thorin was eyeing him with more and more discomfort as he dragged the process out, and Bilbo finally decided to let him off the hook. He took the crown from Thorin and grinned, then handed it back and leaned over so that Thorin could place it atop his brownish-blond curls, and it fit as though made for him. The dark-haired dwarf's relief was blinding.

"I accept this crown as the second courting gift, and I am honored to share any house with you, Thorin, son of Thrain, whether small or large, single house or kingdom, for any house with you in it shall be my home." He turned glowing eyes on Thorin, for once letting his emotions show fully on his face, all the love he found during the battle with the monster, the desire he felt during the bath... Thorin looked surpised and overwhelmed, and Bilbo felt lit from within. He said softly "I will love our people, because I truly love their prince and king-to-be." With that, he moved over and kissed Thorin instead of waiting to be kissed, and someone (Bilbo suspected it was Ori) gasped before everyone cheered and whooped. 

It was a long, thorough, searching kiss and when they finally separated, Thorin looked like Bilbo felt, shattered. He leaned in again next to Bilbo's ear, nose bumping the crown, and whispered "You are terribly cruel to someone you claim to love, _azyungel_," but Bilbo just laughed.

"When you surprise someone like that, you take what you get," he whispered back quietly. Gazing fondly at his beloved, he just muttered "Silly old dwarf," and kissed him on the end of his nose to the general amusement of the whole group. "Now," he said more loudly, quirking an eyebrow at Thorin, "please explain to me where this lovely crown came from, when just last night we were discussing not having anything with us for a gift." Balin grimaced, but Ori spoke up immediately.

"Oh, he had those of us that stayed behind in the dragon's treasure room bring over every crown we could find while we waited for you to move ahead. Didn't you wonder why we were so far behind you?" The young scribe grinned. "He said it was to see if the dragon crown was there, but when he saw that mithril tiara and snatched it up, we knew what the real story was. It was me that found it. I couldn't wait until you saw it, I knew you'd love it. Fits well, too."

"Aye, It's past time you gave him that pretty thing, thought you'd never get around to it," Nar said, chuckling. Bilbo whipped around.

"Wait, you knew too?" He felt a bit cross. Did everyone in the party know his business before him?

"Och aye, you weren't half gone in the woods t'piss at the camp that first night before he'd called me over, sick as he was, mind you, then swore me twelve ways to secrecy and made me check it for ill effects from the dragon or the shadow thing," Nar said, laughing. "I told him I wasn't crafty like you with the Deep Sense, but I could feel no ill upon it. Didn't think he'd wait this long to gift it to you, though. He's a dallier, is our Thorin," he grinned. Thorin tried to puff himself up angrily but ended up laughing. He punched Nar in the shoulder, which got a laugh in return, though Bilbo thought it looked like he himself might have fallen over in pain at such an expression of 'friendship'. The weight of it felt odd on Bilbo's brow, but he supposed he might as well get used to it; who knew what would be expected of him when they were actually married? He realized that they were another step closer, and he would have thought more about it but Balin suggested to him that this was a perfect opportunity for another lesson. As soon as he suggested it, Thorin, Nar and Dwalin went into the other room to get out from underfoot, but Ori curled up with a scroll on a couch in front of the window to make use of the brilliant natural light.

Instead of protocol, last night's trade discussions seemed to have reminded Balin that other things might be expected of Bilbo as well so the topic today was the political structure of the dwarven kingdom. The king, the council, who sat on it... apparently the Minister led the council but didn't vote, there were seven lords that did vote, a stonekeeper was present that got final say in any construction, and the more Balin talked the more confusing Bilbo found the whole arrangement. Seven lords and two others comprised the High Council: five guildmasters (Mining, Provisioning, Crafting, Lore and Building), the lord of War, and the lord of Finance, rounded out by the Minister and the King's Stonekeeper. A royally appointed Scribe known as a Chamberlain was present to take down decisions but had no vote or say in deliberations, other than to rule on the lore. The hobbit was fascinated to note that the dwarves apparently considered the Scribes and researchers as producers, so the production of knowledge counted as a guild. He had to laugh, thinking of the disdain his historical pursuits had received in the Shire; perhaps he had found the support for his passion he didn't know he was missing. One thing that surprised him was that the king wasn't absolute ruler; a king could be overruled by the council acting as a unanimous whole. If all seven lords of the High Council agreed on something, the king could not oppose their decision unless it fit one of a few specific exemptions. Dwarven history was long, though, and each supposedly 'absolute' rule had so many obscure conditions under which it didn't apply, could be broken, or required the opposite of the usual, the hobbit's head was spinning. For example, the Stonekeeper could veto even the full council on anything to do with the stone of the mountain, though keepers held no vote, and there were four or five other exceptions given. Everything tied back into a ritual story, but it sounded to the hobbit as though the dwarves had so many stories about so many situations that they could pick and choose which ones they wanted to apply in any given circumstance. Balin, predictably, reacted with horrified denial when Bilbo said as much.

"No, Bilbo, it's not like that at all!" The old white haired dwarf was positively vibrating in indignation. "There are only a few key exceptions that are important to know! Almost everything else is straightforward once you know the rules." Ori snorted dismissively from where he was sitting, and Bilbo realized that the scribe had been ignoring his scroll and unobtrusively listening in to the lesson.

"Balin is being a bit optimistic, if not simplistic, I'm afraid," Ori said with a cheeky grin. "Most dwarves love to argue, and as you say, it is often possible to justify whatever you want if you are willing to be seen as one of the dwarves that thinks of the stories like that. Only social stigma keeps more people from following that path; we look at such behavior as suspicious if not blameworthy, but plenty of dwarves do it. To call anything 'straightforward' is a stretch... There are a lot of things that are always done a particular way, but even those things change over time, so the way something was done in the reign of the fourth Durin and the way it is done now might be quite different, not to mention the clan differences between what a Longbeard would do as opposed to a Stiffbeard or an Ironfist." Ori smiled sweetly as Balin turned so red with irritation Bilbo half-expected steam to shoot out his ears. "As a Scribe, I'm expected to memorize as many stories and ways of doing things as possible, because the Scribe's job is to know which interpretations are current to what time period, as well as what's a currently permissible interpretation of any given story."

"That makes more sense," Bilbo said, choosing to ignore Balin's discomfort, "and I've certainly noticed that argument seems to be a favorite pastime. So, theoretically speaking, if someone wanted to give away a courting gift with the full blessing of the person who gave it to them..." Balin interrupted forcefully.

"That question has already been settled, and isn't up for discussion, Bilbo, we talked about that. Now as I was saying..." Ori and Bilbo both ignored him, Ori with a contemplative look on his face.

"That's a good one, actually, Bilbo. With no mutual consent, yes, it's a deadly offense, but with the original giver's approval, that's a hard position to take with a straight face. The tale of Khim's Joke definitively proves that offense has to be asserted by the offended party, not imputed generally. Back to gifts, if the other person's life is in danger, there's Bruk and the Three Opals, but that's usually only used for situations where there's a ransom or hostage involved, although I think there have been cases where it wasn't. Now some Scribes have argued that Pirn's Dress could apply but since it was accidental destruction rather than gifting to a third party..." Balin started speaking over Ori in a flood of angry Khuzdul. Ori responded in the same tongue, and the back-and-forth went on for several more exchanges. Thorin appeared in the connecting door between the rooms, apparently drawn by the shouting, and stood with a bemused expression watching the normally shy, quiet Ori argue the old adviser down (or so it seemed to Bilbo). When Ori started making loud points and ticking them off on his fingers as he spoke, Nar appeared and started laughing and commenting to Thorin, also in Khuzdul. Bilbo thought it was amazing that he could be in the middle of so many people and still feel completely isolated, but as the only one present who didn't understand the language he felt irritated and alone. He finally took off the coronet and started examining it more closely, admiring the artistry that went into making the metal and stones look like real flowers.

"You'd think Balin would have better sense than to argue with a Scribe about what's allowed," came Thorin's deep voice murmuring in Bilbo's ear. He turned quickly in surprise, the dark-haired dwarf grinning as he leaned in close to be heard over the continued heated debate a few feet away. "Ori may be quiet most of the time, but Scribes are professional arguers; they train on each other, and practice all day, every day. I think my old teacher has met his match." Balin did look rather frazzled, Bilbo had to admit; the usually smooth white hair was sticking up, and his beard was jutting out like it was about to attack the young dwarf on its own. Ori looked just as calm and collected as he had when he was reading, but his continued enumeration of whatever arguments he was making or refuting seemed to be wearing the old dwarf down. Thorin whispered "Speaking of allowed... it was brilliant to ask Ori about the sword. I had meant to do so, but you got there first. Whether it turns out we can or not, it was an inspired idea... as long as it doesn't mean you don't want to be with me." Bilbo huffed in irritation.

"Thorin, I swear by the Green Lady if you don't stop being convinced I'm leaving at every moment, I don't know what I'll do with you. Was I not clear enough earlier? How many times do I have to tell you that I love you? I'm not going anywhere," he said softly. He leaned into the warm side of the dwarf next to him, and remembering previous occasions he intentionally smoothed his hand down Thorin's hair, this time knowing exactly how it would be taken. The courting braid rippled soft and heavy beneath his fingers, and the bead at the end was cold against his fingertips. He wasn't disappointed with the reaction; Thorin's lowered eyelids and soft sigh of pleasure made his pants feel a bit tighter. Balin made a shocked sound, but Ori raised his voice as soon as he noticed the distraction, and whatever he said dragged the old adviser back into the fray. The discussion resumed as Thorin leaned further into Bilbo, wrapping an arm around the hobbit's shoulders where he sat.

"You are a horrible, horrible tease," his beloved muttered, kissing the palm of the hobbit's hand, but his smile and warm eyes gave the lie to the words.

The argument seemed to be dying down, and gauging by body language Ori had cleaned the floor with Balin. "What are they saying?" Bilbo asked quietly, hating himself for asking but feeling curious if any of it was about him.

"The first argument was about the sword, and Ori seems to feel if we both want to give it away, we can without danger, especially now that you've received your second gift so enthusiastically. The second argument was about how qualified Ori was to make such a statement, which is when the shouting began." Thorin grinned suddenly, blue eyes sparkling, and the sight provoked a swooping feeling in Bilbo's stomach. He couldn't get over just how handsome his dwarf was, no matter how many times he saw him. "The third argument..."

"There were three? Good heavens," Bilbo muttered, to another wide grin from Thorin. Balin made a comment in a waspish tone of voice that left Ori laughing and Balin visibly furious.

"Oh yes, they're on the fourth one now, but poor Balin is giving up. The third one was about whether you were allowed to touch my hair in public, which you shouldn't, although here it hardly counts since there are only close friends present, and now the fourth is about whether Balin is allowed to feel annoyed that Ori interrupted your lesson." Thorin leaned over and kissed Bilbo's temple. "Balin's being petty, which is a sign that he knows he's lost." The hobbit found himself breathing deeply in spite of himself, luxuriating in the scent of Thorin's hair.

Balin was saved from total surrender by a knock at the door, which heralded the arrival of the proposed trade arrangements from the previous night. He and Thorin withdrew to examine and discuss them and Ori went back to his reading (with a self-satisfied smile that didn't escape Bilbo's notice). A hearty noon meal was delivered, a selection of savory breads and meats, and they ate as the afternoon dragged on. At any moment, the hobbit expected to be called to the throne room, but as the late afternoon light faded into evening, he thought perhaps something else had come up for the king. The servant arrived once more with the evening lamps, and right on cue a knock on the door heralded what they all clearly expected to be an invitation to dinner, but instead more food was brought. This was a complete meal, with several types of vegetables, a roast sliced into portions, and a pile of sweet honeycakes for dessert, but Thorin traded uneasy looks with Balin. After several more hours, they all gave up waiting for a summons and retired to their beds.

The next day was more of the same. As the day wore on, Balin drilled Bilbo on as much as he could think of and Ori seemed to have permanently invited himself into the teaching process. Nar would occasionally stop by where they were talking, listen, and make a comment or two before wandering off again. Thorin was clearly imagining increasingly dire explanations for the continued isolation, each worse than the last, and as the day progressed he became more and more snappish and surly with everyone to the point where Bilbo's head was hurting. Once again, food was brought at the appropriate times but nobody appeared other than the servants and the guards prevented them from leaving their rooms. Bilbo cornered Ori that evening while Balin was in the other room and asked a series of pointed questions about betrothal gifts, eventually feeling (hoping) that he had learned what he needed to know. By the time they went to bed, Thorin had convinced himself and held forth to everyone at length that they were all about to be snatched out in the middle of the night and either hauled off in chains to some horrible fate or slain outright. Despite these dire predictions, the night passed quietly.

The third morning, food was delivered almost at sunrise, but the servant also lingered to rouse everyone and inform them that they should gather their things and prepare, for the king would summon them soon to depart. Thorin packed like one who was being sent to the gallows, and Balin, the eternal pessimist, had long since been convinced that Thorin was correct. Bilbo thought the whole thing highly overwrought and pointlessly dramatic, but luckily the rest of the party seemed to be less pessimistic. They all gathered their belongings and made sure that everything was stowed safely in their packs, and within an hour the guard was knocking to take them to the king. As they passed down the halls once more, Bilbo remained amazed at the casual beauty of the palace, though he couldn't help but worry a bit as to what reception would await them after the unexpected delay.

The throne room was unchanged from the first day, though Thranduil's robes were a mix of greens and pale golds this time, and there were other members of his court present. The entire group bowed as they were presented. The king nodded regally, then spoke. "Prince Thorin, Master _perian_, and others, I bid you welcome, and farewell. I have arranged an escort for you to Erebor, that no ill might befall you in the wilds, and I wish you safe journeys," a sardonic eyebrow raised, "and a good reception when you arrive home." Bilbo unstrapped the sword from his pack, glanced at Thorin and received a nod, then stepped forward holding it carefully balanced across his palms.

"Great king," he said, "your hospitality has been unparalleled. You are a kind and generous host. Before we leave, in token of the friendship between Erebor, my home to be, and Greenwood the Great, I offer you this elven blade." Thranduil's eyes widened and he took the blade from Bilbo gently, then pulled it from its sheath. The feeling of it filled the room like a cold wind to Bilbo's senses. Bilbo turned back to look at Thorin, and catching his eye, said in a low voice "The life of my intended is worth all I have, with his permission." Thorin's eyes widened but he nodded, and Ori smiled. Balin looked grim, but said nothing. Thranduil seemed to notice none of this, entranced by the sword he held.

"Elven... blade," Thranduil said faintly. He held it up to the light, examining the writing along the side of the blade. "This is... Where did you get this?"

"In a troll cave, great king," Bilbo said. "It was buried beneath a tremendous pile of bones. It was... a gift to me, but both Thorin and I feel it should be yours." Thranduil looked at Bilbo with an expression that made the hobbit suspect the king knew well just what sort of gift it was, but Thranduil didn't comment on the odd phrasing. Instead he turned back to the sword with a look of awe. The hobbit thought it was the most emotion he had ever seen in the king's cold grey eyes.

"This blade is Glamdring, the Foe Hammer. It was made in Gondolin to be the sword of Turgon, the high king. It is the pinnacle of Noldor craft, and though I have no high opinion of many actions of the Noldor, their smithcraft was unmatched among the Firstborn. There is no greater blade in all the world. It has slain dragons, even balrogs, in the wars of Beleriand. You found this in a troll cave?" Thranduil sat for a moment open-mouthed, uncharacteristically at a loss for words. Bilbo kept silent, and at last the king stirred, though the court still stared in wonder. "One of the Valar has surely blessed you... it seems you find weapons and items of tremendous power everywhere you go, Master _perian_. What else do your pockets contain? The crystal shield of Ecthelion? The Three Rings of Celebrimbor? A Silmaril? How come you by such riches of the past so easily? Astonishing." The king shook his head regretfully. "And yet. This is too great a prize for a guest-gift, I fear. I cannot accept it." Thorin looked pole-axed that such a thing might be refused, but Bilbo knew that the elf-king desperately wanted the sword, so he pressed on.

"It is not a mere guest-gift, great king," Bilbo replied, "as I said, let it be a token of the friendship between Erebor and Greenwood. The sword is mine to give, and I give it to you freely."

Thranduil looked up, and for the first time Bilbo saw a grudging respect on his face. "It is still too much to balance. Very well, then... in token of this kingly present you have made me, I grant you a boon, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire. Ask what you would have of me, and it shall be yours, save only my throne, my life and that of my line." Bilbo was shocked; this wasn't something he hadn't expected. He assumed that the rules of boons were the same here as they had been for Thorin, the Numenoreans and everyone else, but he had no desire to put Thranduil in an awkward position. Grasping at ideas, he remembered asking Ori if there was a shrine to the Green Lady at the mountain, since she was the wife of Mahal, but the young scribe had said there was not. Smiling, he replied.

"Great king, the boon I ask is this: have the craftsmen of your people make a shrine to the Green Lady Yavanna Kementari, or Javun as the dwarves call her. Let it be upon the slopes of the mountain, planted round with gardens." He smiled wistfully, thinking of the many shrines dotting the Shire, filled with roses and offerings of what was in season. "I ask not only for myself, but for your people, the men of Dale, and all others near Erebor who honor the Green Lady, that there might be a place of worship for them as well as the shrines of the Smith, her husband." Thorin stared at Bilbo, but slowly nodded; the rest of the dwarves looked a bit appalled, except Ori who was grinning ear to ear. The elves of the court murmured approvingly, and Thranduil laughed his chiming laugh.

"Again you astonish me, Master _perian_, for even with your own boon you ask for others instead of yourself. So be it. When your beloved is king, send word to me and I will not only see a shrine built for Lady Yavanna, I will send my finest gardeners to grow such a garden in her honor that it would be worthy of Queen Melian herself.' The king's smile faded, and pale eyes looked piercingly at the hobbit in front of him. "But I will say further that you, Bilbo Baggins, are the most open-handed and generous being I have ever met. For your part, I name you Elf-Friend and Blessed, and I give you this token of the House of Oropher, to mark that you are welcome in my kingdom at any time, and that all of my people are bound to help you in need." The king took off a pendant from his own throat and handed it to Bilbo, who heard a faint growl from Thorin. Thranduil gave a cool half-smile at the sound, but resumed his seat. "Prince Thorin, if I may be so bold as to advise you in your personal affairs, marry him quickly lest he get away, for this hobbit of yours is a jewel beyond price. I accept the sword as a token of friendship, and may the two of you accordingly count me as a friend henceforth."

Thorin bowed low and said "A great friend indeed," and Bilbo echoed the sentiment. Glaring at Thranduil, who was smirking at the prince from his throne, Thorin said "And none know the value of Bilbo Baggins more than I, King Thranduil. Your advice is good, but unneeded." Thranduil nodded regally, but his usually icy eyes were dancing.

"Even so," said the elven king, still smirking. A tall, dark-haired elf in the golden mail of the king's guard stepped up, and Thranduil waved a lazy hand at him. "Elperas will lead you to his company, who will act as your guards on this journey. I have sent you well-provisioned, so that none need concern themselves with hunger." A glance over at Bilbo produced a flush, and Thorin twitched as though he wanted to move closer to the hobbit. Bilbo appreciated that Thranduil meant well, but honestly, he told himself, he couldn't wait to be out of this constant hail of verbal arrows. Everything here felt like a test, and it was frankly exhausting. Final polite words were said, and the whole group moved out following the golden armor of Elperas to the company that would guide them north.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the party finally reaches Erebor, Lady Dis expresses her concern in a forthright way, and Bilbo begins to realize what being bethrothed to dwarven royalty really means (good and bad).

It didn't take many days for Bilbo to realize that having a troop of guards along for the journey smoothed many paths. The terrain was no more hospitable than it had been for most of the journey; less hospitable than some, particularly that on the eastern side of the Misty Mountains. Nevertheless, they moved at a faster pace and yet everyone was more relaxed. Gone was the mental stress of constant vigilance. The dwarves were able to stop keeping watch, delegating that to the elves, and there were decidedly fewer threats (and no orcs) on the eastern side of the enormous forest of Greenwood. Within a few days, they spent the night camped near the small fishing village on the shores of Esgaroth. After leaving the throne room with an escort, hearing Thranduil's friendly (though mocking) words, the prince had set aside his worries, and he had spent the first night or two laughing and joking with the party and Bilbo in the type of good mood the hobbit had rarely seen in their journey together. As they had gotten closer to the mountain, though, Thorin's mood had darkened. Bilbo was vaguely disturbed by the sight of Erebor rearing itself up in the distance, though he only had only dim memories of a dream where it had indicated something dangerous. By the early evening of the following day they were in Dale. Elperas, who had turned out to be every bit as personable, friendly, and even earthy as Ciraen had been the opposite, argued in favor of resting and approaching Erebor proper the following morning, but Thorin insisted that the party press on. He said that he had a feeling that he needed to go as quickly as possible, though Bilbo privately suspected he was simply homesick being this close to the mountain.

They made their way up a long, open road towards a massive carved entrance rearing hundreds of feet above the plains. Bilbo thought this mountain was amazingly defensible, even to his eyes; there was no way to approach it without being seen from miles away. Giant statues of dwarves bearing axes (axes Bilbo noticed were startlingly similar to the Axe of Dain) flanked the gates, each over a hundred feet high and looming over the entrance to the main gates. Bustling activity at the gates was visible from a distance even in the encroaching evening gloom, some of which resolved into wagons of merchants heading out of the city towards Dale, lanterns hanging from the sides and bobbing as the wheels rolled on the paved road. A group of soldiers appeared and formed up several hundred feet in front of the gates, making Thorin's already dark expression sour even further. Balin whispered something to him but Bilbo wasn't close enough to hear. As they closed the final distance, an officer in a helm decorated with a bronze boar's head stepped forward and braced himself squarely in the road. He stared challengingly at Elperas but didn't seem to see the dwarves in their midst.

"What business have the soldiers of Greenwood here in the Kingdom of Erebor, elf?" came the distinctly unfriendly challenge. Elperas looked at Thorin and motioned him forward.

Bilbo suspected that the elven captain made some sarcastic comment to the prince, but Thorin was already making his way forward. Within seconds, he stood bristling in front of the guard, who looked utterly flummoxed by the prince's presence. "Their business is mine, and they are welcome. Is this how we greet guests now, Freki? Have your soldiers clear a path. We are weary, and need no ceremony, but I must see my father ere he retires for the night." The officer in front of Thorin made no motion, but Bilbo noticed with unease that several of the soldiers behind him lifted their weapons to a guard position. Dwalin grunted and shifted slightly, and Nar slid over to give himself room. The hobbit worried, not for the first time, that Thorin's assurances to Thranduil might have been a little premature. Thorin barely raised an eyebrow, but stood quietly, waiting.

"Prince Thorin..." Freki said in a distinctly uncomfortable tone. "We had heard... it's just, we were told..." The officer stared at Thorin with a worried expression.

"Yes, you were probably told a pack of lies by that treacherous worm Grar, may his filthy beard fall out!" Thorin exploded. "But I am not dead, I am not exiled, and I will see my father the king, if I have to fight my way through the mountain to do it. Clear a path, I said!" The soldiers eyed each other, unsure what to do. Thorin cursed and reached behind himself and the troops in front of him drew their weapons up to fight, but when Thorin produced the Axe of Dain, instead of wielding it as a weapon, he held it high overhead so that all could see. The fiery energy rolled off it, blinding Bilbo to everything else and he heard the elves curse in shocked tones from behind the party. "I return with the _Baruk Dainul_. The treasures of Durin are come again to his heirs! Let me pass to the king!" All the soldiers dropped to their knees, exactly as the dwarves of the party had when Bilbo first handed the axe to Thorin outside the cave. Thorin stood for a moment then motioned and they all stood and formed a processional passage.

"_Yanad Durinul_!" the soldiers cried out together in a great voice, and Thorin strode forward imperiously, every inch the returning prince despite his tattered clothes. The others hurried along behind them, and Bilbo was practically skipping to keep up to the pace being set. Another, larger group of soldiers came spilling from the gates at their approach, but the reaction was the same. At the sight of the axe, they went to their knees and shouted the same phrase. Balin was smiling and nodding with a proud expression, but the hobbit noticed that Ori looked concerned. He wanted to ask the reason but then the group went through the gate and for the first time Bilbo saw Erebor.

He had wondered, of course, after seeing the ruins of a huge dwarven city. He had thought about whether it would be like that, all flat open spaces in the entry and then endless tunnels and halls, running this way and that, or if it would be different. It was like nothing Bilbo had ever imagined, and really he had to admit it was like nothing he could have imagined. They came through the gates into a short hallway and through a second set of gates, exactly like Sarkhubuland, but there the similarities stopped. The stone of the mountain was a dark green, and everywhere it was polished to a mirror-like brightness. The entrance and market hall of Erebor was vast, and a statue in the center carved in the same style as the outer statues looked down on the door from atop a dais of seven steps. Rather than an axe, though, this one bore a hammer and stood before an anvil, and Bilbo suspected that this was the image of Mahal himself. Above him, stepping up into the distance were levels upon levels of balconies and bridges set with lamps, great crystal lamps hung from the ceiling far overhead, and the whole place was such a profusion of light and interlocking lines that the hobbit felt his head swimming. As in the elvenking's halls, decoration was everywhere, but here it was key patterns and strong, straight lines on every surface. Despite this, though, the architecture was the least of it, for everywhere were dwarves, moving, rustling, scurrying about their errands and missions. Bilbo suspected this must be what it would be like for an ant to come into an anthill, if only anthills were made of polished green stone and light. Everywhere the susurrus of distant conversations echoed, but one word overlaid all of it "_baruk, baruk_". 

Thorin climbed the seven steps and stood at the anvil holding the Axe of Dain overhead, and Bilbo beheld the unimaginable sight of an entire city stopping in its tracks to kneel. Wherever they were, whatever they were doing, even in the midst of bargaining at the market, every one of the dwarves went to their knees, and eerie silence fell for a moment. It lasted for one seemingly eternal stretch of several seconds, then the axe was lowered and everyone stood and resumed their activities, but Bilbo would remember the sight for the rest of his life. Once motion had resumed, Thorin turned to the elves and said "Thank you, Elperas, for your service. Take your troops to our barracks here, and housing will be found for you, including baths if you desire them. Do not take your leave too soon, there may be messages to return to Thranduil with you. Captain Freki!" The officer from outside sidled up, eyes rolling as Thorin's arm slid around his shoulders, hand clasping tightly. "Take our guests to good quarters, see that they are fed, and all their needs are seen to." The elf captain bowed to Thorin, and after a moment his troops did as well. The prince whispered something quietly which made Freki turn pale, but then Thorin smiled broadly and clapped him on the back. Turning to the party, he simply said "Come."

The journey from that point was never clear to Bilbo. They went down passages and across bridges, turned this way and that at crossings of tunnels, entering and leaving various spaces at all levels of deep chasms which made his head spin with dizziness. The omnipresent lamps cast almost too much light, because he felt he would have been far happier not to be able to see just how far up they were on some of the bridges they crossed. His stone sense told him that they were rising in elevation, but the only visible indication that they were moving in anything other than circles was that they were passing less and less dwarves as they went, and the ones they did pass were dressed more and more richly. All without exception stared at Thorin as though he had two heads and a tail, but the prince took no notice of such reactions. Bilbo felt that the party rather stood out here in their old, travel-stained clothes, but Thorin was an inexorable force pushing forward. As they passed through a room decorated with walls carved to look like trees, a dwarf who could have been Thorin's twin came running at top speed out of a cross hallway and grabbed the dark-haired prince by his shoulders, dragging him into a rough embrace. Dwalin jumped, but smiled and stepped back as a clear voice said "Mahal, where have you been? It took you so long, I thought you had died! You have to see him now, Thorin." The dwarf's voice caught briefly. "There's... not a lot of time left. You must hurry."

Bilbo turned and looked at Ori with what must have been a shocked expression, because he whispered "Lady Dis. Thorin's sister." He grinned. "A force of nature." Bilbo looked more closely, and realized that there were in fact breasts under the richly decorated robe. The beard was longer than Thorin's, but they shared the same coloration, the jet black hair and beard with crystalline blue eyes. Dis' beard was decorated with silver and crystal, though, and she looked more... Bilbo wasn't sure what, but though they were quite similar, now that he had seen her more closely he would never again mistake them for each other. Dis' features were more striking than handsome, but there was a stability and solidity to her that the hobbit had never seen in Thorin with all his restless motion and enthusiasm. She released Thorin, then suddenly looked at him closely and snatched at his courting braid.

"What's this? You've entered a courtship _now_? Are you mad?" She looked at the bead closely. "Where did you get this bead? This is mithril!" Thorin looked off-balance for a moment, which Bilbo had rarely seen, but soon firmed his jaw.

"Take me to father. What do you mean, 'not a lot of time left'? Is he...?" She nodded sadly, mouth twisting. Thorin's shoulders sank, but he said "We can talk later. There's much to tell." She cursed and sighed, but turned away, then whipped back.

"Did you get it? You found it? The crown?" At Thorin's nod, she closed her eyes for a moment, murmured something that was probably a prayer of thanksgiving, then seized his hand and dragged him off. Bilbo had thought that Thorin set a strong pace, but Dis was apparently a distance runner. He hadn't run this quickly since their escape from the orcs of the mountains. He wasn't sure they were supposed to even be there, since the party was hardly royalty, but the hobbit figured if they weren't supposed to go somewhere, someone would let them know. Bilbo also noticed, even as they pelted through the halls at top speed, the amount of gold and gems involved in the decorations and even inset into the walls themselves was increasing with each room. The running through the halls brought back terrifying memories of the last time he ran pell-mell through a dwarven fortress, but the bright lamps everywhere and elaborate furnishings and hangings made enough difference that he didn't panic. The group finally arrived in a sitting room where a large dwarf with an extremely elaborate hairstyle and a long brown beard braided with opals was standing in front of a golden door, giving instructions to three other dwarves in simpler clothes. Despite his extravagantly ornate apparel, this dwarf was the first one that Bilbo had seen that was actually fat... not the roundness of a well-fed hobbit but the extreme weight of boundless appetites. Dis marched up to him and said "Grar, you're in the way, as usual. Move." He turned and bowed without stepping aside, and Bilbo suddenly recognized the name. So this was the dwarf that had sent that letter to Thranduil!

"Princess Dis, and the lost son of Durin, Prince Thorin, such a pleasure." He didn't look pleased, the hobbit thought. He actually looked a bit ill. Nar was grinning again behind his long black beard, which was usually a fairly reliable sign that someone was about to have something unpleasant happen to them. "I was conversing with your father's physicians. It seems as though things are not going well, I'm afraid. Prince Thorin," he turned to look at the prince and looked him up and down pointedly, sneering a bit at his tattered clothes, "I'm surprised to see you return. Most dwarves would be ashamed to show their face in a place where they had behaved so disgracefully." Grar's mouth opened to continue, but Thorin had the Axe of Dain out and laid at his throat before he could speak another scornful syllable. The stench of burning hair filled in the room, and at the sight of the axe all the Erebor dwarves fell to their knees, even Dis. Grar looked like he was about to faint.

"This is the _Baruk Dainul_," Thorin said softly. "It thirsts for your blood, Grar. I can feel it. You are a liar, a traitor, and a coward." Balin stepped over to Thorin and put a warning hand on his shoulder as the dwarves on the floor stared up in shock. Thorin took a heaving breath. "You are still chamberlain, while my father lives. I will spare you for that. But when my father has gone to the stone, Grar, there will be a reckoning between us, you and I." Thorin pulled the axe blade away, and a burned stripe of beard was clearly visible. He shoved the heavy dwarf away, and Grar almost fell. The others stood, but looked away from Grar's humiliation. The chamberlain stood and the look of poisonous hatred on his face made Dwalin step forward to get between him and Thorin. Grar didn't say another word, though, simply sketched a shallow bow and fled. Balin shook his head sadly, but at Thorin's glare quietly looked away. Thorin took a deep breath, then addressed the dwarves who were standing in the room. "How is he?" They replied in such low voices that Bilbo couldn't hear the resultant conversation, not, he thought, that it was any of his business. Every now and then a word would float out like 'delirium', and to avoid even looking like he was snooping Bilbo sidled over to Ori.

"I feel invisible," he said. Ori quirked a half-smile at the hobbit.

"I suspect it won't last for long, and my advice is to enjoy it while it does. Once word gets out of who you are, what you've done, and who you are courting, invisibility will likely seem fairly appealing." Dis glanced over at them, then did a double take whilst peering closely at Bilbo from across the room. He knew his courting braid wasn't visible from where she was standing, but he suspected she had never seen a hobbit before and wasn't paying attention earlier to anyone but Thorin. Ori confirmed it. "It isn't usually allowed for non-dwarves to come this far into the mountain, and I think Lady Dis just realized that you are not a dwarf."

Bilbo bit his lip. "Is it going to be a problem? I... hope she likes me. Since she is, you know, Thorin's sister." Ori smiled and patted Bilbo on the shoulder.

"Lady Dis will learn to appreciate you, I'm sure, Bilbo... in some ways you are a great deal alike. But be patient with her." The young scholar grimaced a bit. "She's under a great deal of stress right now, and she can be very, hmm, how to put this. Direct." The hobbit snorted a bit, remembering her peremptory dismissal of Grar. This reminded Bilbo of something, and he dug in his memory. Suddenly he remembered talking to Balin after he had shouted at Thorin in public about the elf, and the old adviser saying something to the effect of 'even Lady Dis wouldn't be more fearsome in a rage'. Ahem. Ignoring his sudden surge of embarrassment, he glanced back over only to see the door open and Dis, Thorin and the three doctors all going inside the room. Thorin was carrying the crown in his hands, but stopped in apparent shock at whatever he saw. Dis put her hand on his elbow and urged him forward. Balin and the others didn't seem to be moving, however, so Bilbo stayed where he was. A weak, querulous voice was heard demanding something about gold before one of the doctors returned and closed the door from inside. Ori's face fell the moment the panels of the door boomed shut, and the hobbit noticed that all the faces in the room looked grim. 

Ori cut his eyes over at Bilbo as though calculating something, but finally motioned for the two of them to step over and sit on a small couch nearby. "Thorin would not thank me for telling you this," he began in a low voice, causing Bilbo to begin to worry immediately, "but he seeks to shield you and I fear the consequences if you aren't told what you're stepping into by coming to Erebor now. The death of a king is a very dangerous time. We had hoped to come back before the king was to this point. Thorin's conflict with Grar is not as one-sided as you might suspect. The chamberlain has many friends in Erebor, and he has openly opposed Thorin on many things, though today is the first time that Thorin has actually threatened his life. That may yet come back to haunt us." Ori looked away for a moment, but the door was still firmly shut. Balin glanced over, but seemed to know what was going on because he simply nodded and struck up a muffled conversation with his brother. "Thorin will be a strong king, but his strength is also his weakness. I tell you this only because you will one day be Prince Consort, and you will need to balance him in some respects." Bilbo reached out and put a hand on Ori's arm, causing silence to fall.

"Ori, I... thank you. I think I know what you mean. I know that, well, Thorin is a hero, but a hero isn't always a good king. Arvedui Last-King was a hero of legend, but he couldn't rule, and the Witch King destroyed Fornost because of it. I worried about that, but I wish you could have seen him negotiating with Thranduil. He was very impressive... though I suppose I haven't sat in many trade negotiations before," Bilbo admitted. Ori looked unconvinced, but nodded.

"He did a good job it seems, but even so... Let me put this a different way, then. Bilbo, you understand complex social rules; all the stories you have told of the Shire had the same complicated backstories as dwarven stories, so I know this to be true. It sounds like in the Shire there are very elaborate ideas of what is allowed and not, scandalous and not, appropriate in which conditions, and so forth. That's good, because Erebor is exactly the same. You are attuned to things like that in a way that Thorin is, well, is not. Balin tries to rein in his worst excesses, but Balin is older and Thorin doesn't always listen. The Consort's role is to balance the King and to be whatever the King is not. I have no worries about you in that regard; you are not only Thorin's One, you will be phenomenal at the political, personal side of things... if you know that you are expected to do it. Which is why I'm speaking up now." The young scribe's face was earnest, and he looked more adult than Bilbo had seen on the trip (except when he was arguing with Balin, the hobbit realized). With a start, it occurred to Bilbo that Ori knew how young he looked and played that role well, but that this dwarf in front of him was the 'real' Ori. He was unnerved, but felt a bit honored at the same time. "Your lessons with Balin have been good, and you have a strong grasp of the basics already; impressive for someone who was a stranger to our culture a year ago. You will make missteps, but that's to be expected. The problem is that, as I said, this is a dangerous time to be learning. Watch yourself; be careful who you trust, who you allow close to you, and just take care in general. When kings change, things can get... unsettled." Bilbo's sense of worry intensified.

"So, what are you saying, exactly? Is Thorin in danger? Am I in danger?" The scribe tried to smile, but it looked a bit strained. 

"Hopefully it won't come to that," was all the answer he would give. "I'm just telling you to pay close attention to what goes on around you. There's a lot to be seen if you know to be looking for it, and it sounds like you know how to look from your life in the Shire. Use those eyes, and you'll be fine." He stopped speaking as a noise came from the doors to the king's chamber, and the leaves of the door were thrown open. Thorin strode out followed by the others, but Bilbo thought he looked like he had aged fifty years in the room; clearly whatever he had seen had taken a terrible toll. The physicians bowed and retreated back into the king's chambers, and Thorin came over to the party, Dis at his shoulder. 

Seeing Bilbo standing near Ori, the prince nodded to himself, then said "Dwalin, Nar, go home. You have waited for me long enough, and I'm sorry to leave you out here so long. Balin, old friend, go to bed, we have much to do tomorrow but it can't be done without sleep. Ori, I hate to keep you from your rest but I would ask that you escort Bilbo to the Blue Guestroom and ensure that he is settled in before you go home. Grab a servant to show you where it is if you don't know. Dis and I must confer." Everyone bowed, but Bilbo looked at Thorin and his heart ached for his beloved to have such a heartsick expression on his face.

"Thorin," he said before he even considered it, "I will be awake later if you want to visit. To talk." Thorin looked at him with gratitude for a split second before his eyes flashed with horror. Bilbo wondered why until he glanced over at the Princess. Dis' eyebrows were practically on top of her head already, but then she looked the hobbit straight in the face and her eyes flashed to the courting braid. Balin's eyes squeezed shut and his head practically vanished into his shoulders, and Nar was grinning again. Oh dear, Bilbo thought at the sound of Dis' deep breath.

"Thorin!" she shouted at the top of her voice. Ori seized Bilbo's elbow and led him quickly away through one of the archways as everyone scattered. "Have you lost what tiny shreds of sense you ever had?" came bellowing down the hall behind them, as Ori winced and moved more quickly. "What in the forge of Mahal..." The closing of the door behind them muffled Dis' shouting to just the sound of loud wordless yells, but Ori grinned over at Bilbo.

"When I said missteps were to be expected, it wasn't a recommendation, Master hobbit," he said fake-sternly, then stopped as Bilbo grimaced. "Don't worry about it, Bilbo, really. That reaction was inevitable, and the sooner started, sooner finished. Besides," his eyes twinkled merrily as Bilbo wished for nothing more than to vanish into the polished green stone of the floor, "he does need to talk, and he should be talking to you, so you were completely correct in your instincts. It was just... a very forthright way to bring the matter to light, that's all. Positively dwarvish, really!" The young dwarf gave another of his deep sighs. "You two are so romantic together, you have no idea. I'd be jealous if there was any point in it." Bilbo recognized an attempt at distraction when he saw one, but was willing to play along.

"Don't marry a prince," he replied in an exasperated tone of voice, "and if you find out that your One is royal, think long and hard about it before you court. I'm just beginning to realize what I've gotten myself into. Honestly, being on the road was awful at times but it might just be preferable." Ori's smile lit up his whole face.

"You're probably right, at that," he said. He stopped at a guard standing in front of a door. "Prince Thorin commanded me to bring his guest to the Blue Guestroom. Lady Dis is currently expressing her opinions to the Prince, but you are welcome to check with them if you wish." Raising an eyebrow, the scribe stared at the guard with a knowing expression. Bilbo watched the poor dwarf turn a faint greenish color behind his armor. Dis certainly seemed to have a reputation, he noticed.

"That, uh, won't be necessary." The guard said hurriedly, glancing down the hall behind them. "Second door on the left, and if you ring the bell from the room the servants will come." Nodding his thanks, Ori took Bilbo down a hall that brought back stronger memories of Sarkhubuland than anything else he had seen. The gold-laced walls, the plaques of runes inset with gold, the gilded doors... all of this was saved only by the bright lamps from being exactly like what he had seen in the northern mountains. When they reached the second door, Ori opened it to reveal a suite of rooms Bilbo thought at first glance to be almost larger than Bag End. The omnipresent lamps here were provided with covers beside them, and rich tapestries covered the walls showing scenes from dwarven history; mostly battles, Bilbo noticed, though there seemed to be a few marriages and other events represented as well. Heavy, carved wooden furniture was set about the room in a way that divided it up into three separate areas for visiting, and an enormous hearth sat cold and dark at one end of the room. Plush rugs felt almost like furs beneath the hobbit's feet, a welcome respite from the hard, cold stone floors. As they entered, Ori went over to a pullrope beside the door and tugged it. Bilbo looked at the doors leading off of the room, wondering how much more there could possibly be.

Ori wandered over to him where he was staring around himself and grinned again, looking almost like a child. "Nice room, isn't it? One of these doors should lead to the bedchamber, the other to a small kitchen, let's see..." The scribe opened the door on the far wall and sure enough, a bed large enough to accommodate a small army of hobbits was revealed, along with another giant hearth and even more furniture. Bilbo was a bit overwhelmed with the sheer opulence of the room. Ori strolled to the other door, throwing it wide to reveal a small food preparation space, more a staging area than a proper kitchen. "Right," the young dwarf said, "this is for entertaining, a place to set up the food, let's go see about the baths." At that comment, Bilbo felt a physical wave of desire to be clean go through him. He had cleaned up at Thranduil's court, but a proper soaking bath was something he hadn't had since... he turned his thoughts hurriedly away from the camp where he had bathed with Thorin. Ori led him into the bedroom and there was a discreet door tucked behind a tapestry that led to a room with a sunken bath large enough to bathe a horse, carved directly into the stone with steps leading down into it. "Here we are," Ori said happily. Indicating some levers on the wall, he said "Pull this lever here for hot water, this one for cold, and mix the bath to your preference. Mind the hot, though; it's piped straight from the forges, so it's very hot indeed. Don't get burned, always mix some cold in as a matter of course. This lever over here drains the bath." Pointing next at a cabinet, the dwarf said "Bath cloths and such will be in there, once you have some, along with bathing supplies... where are those servants?" The sound of the door opening made them both step back out into the bedroom, and a dwarf dressed in simple clothes appeared. Within a half hour or so, the fireplaces were lit, the bath was stocked, the bed was made, and Bilbo was feeling the lateness of the hour. He noticed that Ori had flipped through all the linens and such as they were brought in, though, which called his mind to the conversation they had in the king's sitting room. He bid farewell to Ori and curled up in one of the chairs in front of the fireplace. What, he wondered for the first time in weeks, have I gotten myself into with this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yanad Durinul - sons of Durin  
Baruk - axe


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bilbo and Dis speak and eventually reach an understanding, Thorin appears unexpectedly, and Bilbo experiences an unaccustomed boredom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't do it often enough, but I really want to thank everyone who leaves kudos, comments, and all the many ways that readers have to brighten up my day! Thank you all soooo much for reading and sticking with me as this story unfolds. I love you all!

As the minutes ticked by, Bilbo could feel himself drowsing. He didn't want to be asleep in case Thorin took him up on the offer of a talk, but he also knew that if he continued to sit in front of the warm fire, that he would soon be asleep. He got up and made his way into the luxurious bathroom. Playing with the levers, he understood what Ori had meant, and before too long he had drawn himself a nice steaming bath. Casting a glance at the door, he stripped quickly and stepped into the water. In spite of himself, Bilbo groaned. If this was waiting at home, the hobbit thought in amazement, how did the dwarves ever bring themselves to leave the mountain? He washed the road dust and grime from himself quickly, not daring to relax too much because that was asking for trouble; either he would fall asleep in the bath (and probably drown, he thought sourly) or else Thorin would show up and there he'd be, unfit for company. Once again, the image of Thorin standing naked in front of the tub in the forest encampment rose up before his mind's eye, but the hobbit forced it away. No good could come of such thoughts unless he wanted to spend more time in the bath than would be appropriate. Once he was dry, he looked sadly at his traveling clothes. They were so nice when he left the Shire, Bilbo mourned, and look at them now! Even the cleaning they had received from the elves wasn't enough to restore them to respectability. Bilbo resigned himself to looking like a ragamuffin until he could get some new clothing, and put them back on with a weary sigh.

As he wandered through the rooms looking for a book or something else with which to amuse himself, there was a knock at the door. He opened it quickly with an expression of hope, but his face quickly fell when there was only a servant carrying a note. He thanked the dwarf and closed the door before reading it, and the message scrawled inside said merely 'Delayed, go to sleep, talk tomorrow'. Bilbo had no question who it was from, though he hoped everything was alright. Sighing, he locked the door securely before disrobing and falling into the enormous bed. The mattress was so soft the hobbit was afraid he would sink all the way into it and be unable to breathe, but he was asleep before the thought was even complete.

Hardly any time seemed to have passed before the hobbit was awakened by loud knocking on the door. Perhaps that's Thorin, he thought, and raced to get dressed, but when he opened the door he was shocked to see not only a servant carrying a tray of breakfast but also a clearly irate Lady Dis. Still groggy from waking up, Bilbo stared dumbly at her for a moment before moving aside and allowing the servant to enter. Dis marched into the room without an invitation and stood, glaring alternately at him and his braid in silence. "Good morning," Bilbo finally said. "Won't you have some breakfast with me?"

"I've eaten," said Dis in an acid voice, continuing to glare. Bilbo nodded, feeling that at least he was on familiar ground; being glared at by members of the house of Durin seemed to be his lot in life. While he still saw the differences now that he knew where to look, it was unnerving how alike she and Thorin were when wearing this particular expression.

"I would try to tempt you with a morsel if I knew what I had," the hobbit said with a self-deprecating chuckle, "but I'm afraid I haven't the faintest notion what's been brought." The servant looked at him and then at Dis nervously, then bowed and fled without a word. Clearly, Bilbo thought, I won't be getting any guidance from that direction. He did recognize a pot of tea, though, and his long-idle Shire sensibilities were reactivated by the sight. "Whatever you've come to discuss, I'm sure it will benefit from a cup of tea. Please, have a seat, Lady Dis, and allow me to pour. Cream? Sugar?" She slowly folded herself down onto a nearby couch as he poured a cup and set it before her along with the service (since she offered no reply), then began to prepare one for himself.

"I heard quite a bit about you last night," she said finally, pouring a touch of cream into her tea seemingly in spite of herself. Aha, Bilbo thought triumphantly, I'm not the only one unable to resist my early social training. "Not sure I believe a word of it." Each of her words was clipped and angry-sounding and Bilbo sighed internally. Fascinating, he thought, I've come halfway around the world to have an interaction with a terrifying dwarven princess who is acting exactly like Lobelia Sackville-Baggins. My life is truly full of curiosities.

Bilbo smiled diplomatically. "Well, if Thorin told you stories about me, I can't speak to them unless I know what they were," he shot her a conspiratorial look which he had used to great effect in the Shire, "but I do suspect that he gives me far too much credit for doing things that I was simply present for when they were done, if you catch my meaning." He examined the tray at last. Eggs, ham, rather lovely sweet rolls, and a selection of sliced fruits. Picking up the plate of fruit, he offered it to Dis, who was looking at him with a frankly disbelieving stare. "Are you certain you won't have some fruit?" He smiled again. "Only, it's so awkward to be the only one eating, really you would be doing me a great favor to..."

"Enough!" she shouted, and he blinked at her in seeming surprise. "I didn't come here to eat fruit and engage in... in... idle nonsense and persiflage!" She glared at the fruit plate as though it had personally offended her, then looked up at him. "I want to know how you've convinced my brother that you are his One. I also want to know how you knew where to find the Axe of Dain, and who put you up to this whole charade. If half the things Thorin told me that spider Thranduil said are correct, you're likely one of his lackeys, especially with those ears. Well you aren't fooling me, I can recognize an elvish plot when I see one!" Breathing heavily, she glared daggers at him when he didn't immediately react. "Well? Speak!" Bilbo sighed softly and looked down at his plate, deciding to go ahead and arrange food for himself. He was clearly going to be shouted at, but there was no reason to take abuse on an empty stomach. Once his plate was put together, Bilbo walked around to the small couch facing Dis across a low table and seated himself, spreading a napkin out on his lap. He noticed with some concern that her hands were shaking from apparent fury.

"Really, Lady Dis, I don't know what I should say," Bilbo finally said, beginning to eat. "There isn't any plot, at least on my part. Thorin came to my home in the Shire to recruit me to go look for the same crown he took in to your father. I didn't want to come at first, but he was quite persuasive." No need to go into the Gandalf business, the hobbit thought, that would only confuse things. "We went through the Misty Mountains and we found the Axe buried in a cave behind an old landslide. I'm afraid I was the one to bring it out and give it to Thorin, so if that was part of the story you were told, then yes, I actually did that, though it wasn't particularly dangerous. I also went with Nar and Vekkad into the royal quarters in the ruined city to get the crown, but Thorin was the proper hero of that story - he fought the monster that would have killed us all." Bilbo bit into his sweet roll and was delighted at the texture and flavor. Forcing his mind back to what he was saying, he chewed and swallowed then continued, "As for convincing him of being his One or anything else, my Lady, you know your brother better than any, and if you can tell me how I would go about convincing him of something he doesn't want to believe I'd welcome the lesson." He blinked at her mildly, then waved at the plate of fruit. "Are you quite sure you won't have some..."

"You are an infuriating creature," Dis ground out. He stood and brought her a small plate and set it beside her teacup with a twinkly smile, then sat down and continued eating. As if she couldn't resist, she slowly tonged up a few slices of apple and a ripe persimmon onto the plate, glaring at him intermittently as she did so. The hobbit felt a sense of victory but was careful to keep it off his face.

"Are you the youngest member of the royal house? I'm afraid Thorin didn't tell me much about his family during our trip." Bilbo stopped suddenly. "If you'd rather not talk about such things, I understand. I am truly sorry about your father, for what it's worth." She closed her eyes momentarily.

"Thank you," Dis said softly as she sipped at her tea. Her face fell into tired lines, and Bilbo had a sudden suspicion that much of her anger was simply due to exhaustion. "It's been... difficult. We knew he was declining, but this..." She shook herself. "But no, my sons Fili and Kili are the youngest. They're in Dale at the moment, but Mahal alone knows what mischief..." She stopped and got a very strange look on her face. Bilbo gave her the most encouraging expression he could to continue, but she stared at him in what looked to be shock and confusion. "I came in here to berate you, and here I am telling you stories about my children." She laughed softly, and her laugh sounded so much like Thorin it made the hobbit smile. "Perhaps you will do after all, Master Baggins. You're certainly no slouch as a diplomat."

"You are too kind," Bilbo said with another twinkle. "If you can stand to eat another bite, you simply must try one of these sweet rolls, they are magnificent." This time her laugh was full-throated.

"Yes, Master Baggins, Bombur's rolls are legendary. I must say, you aren't what I was expecting at all." She cast a shrewd eye at him as he sat eating. "I still don't believe most of it, though. I want you to know that." Bilbo nodded soberly.

"If I were in your position, I don't think I should believe a word of it either," the hobbit said. "If it were me, and my brother showed up with some strange person I had never met, making all sorts of exotic claims about them, I think suspicion is the only reasonable response. Why would you believe I might feel otherwise?" In spite of himself, the hobbit relished her look of confusion. Finally, she rallied.

"If you're lying, you're quite good at it, I'll give you that," she said with a half-smile. A knock at the door interrupted them, and before Bilbo could stand the door opened to reveal Thorin with Balin behind him. Bilbo looked at him as though seeing him for the first time. He looked every inch the dwarven prince in rich fabrics, embroidered and damasked with patterns, and his boots and belt were new, a rich, black, buttery leather that looked almost edible. For the first time, the hobbit understood truly that Thorin was a real prince, and he felt a flash of uncertainty. That, he told himself, and now he felt even more like a beggar in his torn, faded, stained traveling clothes.

"_Azyungel_, I thought we could eat breakfast tog..." blue eyes met identical ones across the room and Thorin seemed to slump into himself. "Ah. Dis, good morning." Balin grimaced.

"_Azyungel_, is it?" she said archly. "At least you had the decency to bring a chaperone, though my faith in Balin's common sense has been drastically eroded by the farrago of nonsense that he's apparently tolerated during this trip of yours." Balin stared uncomfortably off into the embers in the hearth as Dis' eyes flashed dangerously. "I still don't know whether you're completely mad or just badly confused, but at this point it doesn't matter. This Master Baggins seems nice enough, for all that he's clearly no dwarf." Bilbo's lips thinned, but he let it pass and just sipped his tea. The Green Lady knew he'd been called worse, and it's not as though she were lying. Dis was warming to her subject, though, and her volume reflected it. "So honestly, I don't know whether he is to blame, as I originally thought, or this is another of your ridiculous hare-brained notions that you've somehow convinced him to play along with! Are you Vuti or the goat in this little play? I suppose it wasn't enough to shout at your own father and then storm out of the mountain with your little entourage, you had to go dragging outsiders into our family's problems and stupidly getting betrothed with..." Bilbo felt the precise moment when his temper snapped. The _clink_ of his cup being set firmly in its saucer cut through the room.

"Lady Dis, that will be more than enough." She turned in shock to look at him, mouth still hanging open, but Bilbo pressed on. "You may say what you wish about me, but you will not sit in my rooms and insult my beloved in front of me, thank you very much. Thorin is the both the bravest and gentlest person I have ever known, and I consider myself extremely honored to have his attention, even if sometimes I don't understand why he cares for me." He sat stiffly, a stripe of red fury on each cheek, breathing hard. "Now you will apologize to him, or you will leave my rooms." Thorin and Balin were staring open-mouthed at the hobbit. Bilbo could see them where they were standing, but all his attention was on Dis. She was glaring at him angrily, an ugly red flush creeping up from her neck, and Bilbo suspected he looked just as furious if not worse, but really, he thought, this was entirely beyond too much. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, he said in a clipped voice "Make your choice quickly, if you please." He thought she would stand and leave for a brief moment, but then she looked down at her hands, and finally glanced over at Thorin.

"I'm... I'm sorry, _nadad_," she said softly. Thorin walked over wordlessly and patted her hand, and she clutched at his fingers tightly. Dis turned to look him full in the face, glancing back briefly at Bilbo. "Maybe he really is your One after all. Durin's beard, Thorin, it was like being told off by _amad_ again." She giggled and Bilbo was astonished to hear Thorin giggle as well. If anyone had ever told him that he would one day be sitting in a formal room listening to a dwarven prince giggle like a naughty faunt, he would have accused them of being mad, but here he was. In spite of himself, he grinned. Thorin took the seat on the small couch next to Bilbo and took his hand, running his thumb along Bilbo's knuckles.

"I owe you an apology as well, _namadith_," Thorin said to his sister, getting a surprised look from Dis and Bilbo both. "When you first found Vili, I thought you were being ridiculous. I told you so more than once. All that screaming and pining and... well. I didn't know." A look of shame passed over his face, but he kept his eyes down. "Now I understand. I can't imagine being told not to wed, being kept apart from my heart like that. Bilbo is all I can think about when I'm not near him; just seeing him is like a drink of water in a thirsty land. I was... I've been selfish, and I wasn't as supportive as I should have been when you lost him. I can't imagine how you survived, knowing what I do now. I'm sorry." Bilbo could have been knocked over with a feather. He was shocked to hear Thorin say such things about him to someone else. Balin looked deeply uncomfortable, but Dis' expression reflected pure astonishment, then faded to sorrow.

"It's alright, _nadad_." Dis said softly. "Thank you for saying so, but I understood, and I never blamed you. You had your own problems; suddenly being heir, Frerin lost, _sigin'adad_ killed... honestly, though, If not for the boys, I couldn't have done it. But I try to move on. Some things aren't worth dwelling upon." She glanced over to the white haired old dwarf peering into the flames. "Right, Balin?" Bilbo remembered the story of Bur and wondered how many people here in the mountain had lost their husbands, wives, children that horrible day. Balin smiled sadly and nodded.

"Quite right, Princess." He looked back at the fire. "Such thoughts help nothing." Despite his brave words, Bilbo thought Balin's sorrow was heart-breakingly visible, and he felt bad again for the old dwarf.

"But look at us," Dis said finally in a brisk voice, "airing the whole family's dirty laundry in front of Master Baggins, and him just arrived. What he must think of all of us! If you weren't planning to marry him before, Thorin, you must now he knows all our secrets," she said firmly, but with a sideways grin that was pure mischief. Thorin laughed and Bilbo realized that apparently he had passed some sort of test. "So tell me, Master Baggins, what would you like to do on your first day in Erebor? Thorin and I must attend on our father in a while, but even if we are not available there is nothing to keep you from seeing the mountain."

"Honestly, Lady Dis, I hadn't given it much thought," the hobbit was forced to confess. "Since I left my house, it's been one thing after another, and we've been racing from here to there. I don't even know what there is to see. At some point I'd like to meet the cook who made those sweet rolls, but beyond that..."

Seeing Dis' stunned expression, Thorin chuckled and gave her a wry look. "Dis, hobbits consider food to be one of the most important things in life; they think of meals in rather the same way that _adad_ thinks of gold." His thumb stroked again across Bilbo's knuckles. "Every chance he got, he cooked for us when we were traveling, and he was an amazing cook. Well, except for that night he made Nar cook." Balin groaned at the memory, and Dis gave him a narrow look.

"You made _Nar_ cook something?" She shook her head. "I'm not sure I want to know, honestly." Bilbo's lips clamped down in a thin line.

"That was not a very good evening, I'm afraid. And not one of Thorin's shining moments, either, if you want to know the truth," Bilbo said. Dis turned to Thorin expectantly, but his mulish expression gave her all the answer a sibling's intuition needed. She started laughing before a word was said.

"What did you do, _nadad_...?" she asked in a wheedling voice. After repeated denials and grumbling, finally he gave in.

"That was a very confusing time for everyone," the prince said stiffly. Bilbo's shuttered face and Thorin's look of discomfort had Dis leaning eagerly forward in her chair. Finally he coughed and said "There I was, feeling completely mad to think I'd found my One in a hobbit, when he calls to me for help because he's being attacked by a bear. Me specifically, mind you, when he had Ori standing right beside him with a sword! So I went and saved him, but then everyone was looking at me and wondering why he called me and wondering even more why I ran. As if that wasn't enough, then Bilbo cooks me a special meal and brings it to me in front of the whole group, like a proposal of marriage! So I'm trying to keep myself from staring at him like a lunatic, and yet he's giving me presents in the middle of the camp. It was a bit much," but by that point Dis was laughing so hard she most likely couldn't hear him speaking. Bilbo had never heard this side of the story, and looked over at Thorin a touch sheepishly. After being tutored in the basics of dwarven etiquette, it did sound a bit different when put this way he had to admit. After Dis had finally stopped laughing enough to wipe her eyes, the prince continued. "Then Bilbo got mad because he thought that everyone was treating him poorly. Well, they were shocked, no mistake about it, and I couldn't say anything because now everyone was beginning to suspect that I was a little too attached to him for a normal friendship. So he went off to sulk, and..." The hobbit gave an offended squawk.

"_Went off to sulk_?!" Bilbo cried indignantly. "Did you, Thorin Oakenshield, just accuse someone else of sulking? Well this is the pot meeting the kettle, if ever I've heard it!" Dis was laughing again, this time lying back against the chair and just howling openly with laughter. Even Balin was grinning at the affronted expressions Bilbo and Thorin were wearing. "Everyone hid from me and wouldn't speak, Ori was acting like a complete ass, and when I tried to apologize to you for the misunderstanding you just stared at me like I had something on my face and walked away! You're lucky I ever spoke to any of you again! If it weren't for Balin I might very well have gone home the next day!" Thorin closed his eyes in seeming irritation, but ended up kissing Bilbo's knuckles instead of responding in kind. The hobbit's aggravated expression eased at the secret flick of a tongue across his knuckles and his eyes flickered shut for a moment.

"Well, I am very glad for my own sake that you did not," Thorin said diplomatically. Dis' eyebrows rose again, and she cut her eyes over at Balin.

"Have they been like this the whole time?" she asked the old adviser. "I apologize for doubting you as a chaperone; how have you kept them both clothed?" Thorin gave his sister an appalled look, but Balin just shook his head grimly.

"No, they haven't been like this the whole time, but for the past few weeks it has been solely through the grace of Mahal," the white-haired dwarf said in a sour voice. "I'm delighted that now you and the boys can help keep an eye on them because the rest of the party we traveled with were worse than useless. Ori thinks the whole thing is so romantic he'd stand about mooning and sighing while they rolled around together like rabbits, and Nar and Dwalin don't notice anything they can't fight, eat, or sleep on." Bilbo and Thorin shared a shocked glance, and the hobbit could tell that they were completely united in their desire to vanish into the floor from humiliation, never to be seen again. Honestly, the hobbit thought, Dis is bad enough on her own, but for someone who makes such a fuss about protocol Balin will just say anything at all! Dis smiled but then her face went still.

"You never said what happened to Vekkad. He left with you, but didn't return." Her mouth twisted. "I can't imagine he had a very favorable impression of Thorin's finding his One in a hobbit." Thorin's growl and Bilbo's huff came at the same time.

"No, he was very upset at first," Bilbo said, "but before the end he made his peace with me and offered me his hand in friendship. He died in Sarkhubuland while we were fetching the crown. The shadow took him." Dis gazed at him in utter disbelief.

"Offered you his hand? Vekkad, son of Tukkad offered friendship to someone who wasn't a dwarf? I'd give half the treasury to see him tell his father that. Did anyone else see him do it?" At Bilbo's nod, she stopped for a moment. "Wait... what shadow?" So nothing would do but that Bilbo tell the whole story all over again as he had to Thranduil. Dis turned pale at several parts of the tale, but by the time he was done, she was shaking her head slowly and glaring at her brother. "Thorin didn't tell me any of the terrifying bits of that story; all I heard was that the dragon was already dead and that you had found the crown. I knew my _nadad_ was a bit of a hero, but this is ridiculous. Balin, he was arrogant before, I can't even imagine how we're going to deal with him once the stories get out." Despite the teasing, Bilbo could recognize the worry in Dis' expression. Thorin offered a sarcastic response, and the conversation flowed on for another fifteen minutes or so before Dis and Thorin departed to see the king. Balin told Bilbo that he would go ask Ori to act as a guide through the mountain before he too took his leave.

As Bilbo wandered again through the empty suite of rooms, he was reminded that there was nothing to do here. He almost pulled the bellrope and asked the servant if there were any books that he could read, but he dreaded the blank look he might receive and remembering Vekkad, he wasn't sure how the servants would deal with requests from a non-dwarf anyway. It took Ori long enough to arrive that Bilbo was thoroughly bored and feeling somewhat sulky by the time the young scribe knocked, but he tried to put those emotions down and be excited to see the halls of the dwarves... especially their kitchens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> adad - father  
amad - mother  
nadad - brother  
nadadith - sister  
sigin'adad - grandfather


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bilbo learns a valuable lesson about being consort, meets a cook, explores the Great Market, and then everything goes to hell.

"Ori, thank goodness, I was about to go out of my mind. There's absolutely nothing to do here," Bilbo said as the smiling young dwarf came in. Like Thorin and Balin, Ori had changed into clean clothes and looked bathed, but at least his clothes looked closer to what Bilbo thought of as 'normal', not opulent like Thorin's outfit that morning. He did notice that Ori was now wearing a thin strip of runed fabric as a sash wrapped around him, but didn't ask for fear of giving offense.

"Yes, most guests bring their own tasks with them, I'm afraid," was Ori's response. "Usually nobles stay in these suites when they are in the mountain on business, and they have attendants and all sorts of people swirling around them. Would some books prove useful? I'm sure I can find something in the library in Westron, we have a decent amount of Gondorian histories." Bilbo's excitement overpowered the resurgence of his feeling out of place.

"That would be wonderful! Trust a fellow historian to know just what to bring!" Bilbo said warmly. Ori laughed, and for a moment it was like they were still on the road together.

"Now," the scribe said gleefully, rubbing his hands together, "where are we going? What would you like to see?" His excitement made him look even younger than he was, and the palpable feeling of being about to go somewhere just for fun made the hobbit simultaneously thrilled with the novelty of the idea and dizzyingly, blindingly homesick for the Shire. "Oh," Ori suddenly interjected, making Bilbo look at him closely, "before we leave, I should tell you... as a Scribe, I may be stopped by people with questions. They see the sash and we're fair game, I'm afraid. It probably won't happen, but I did want to warn you just in case. We aren't very popular companions in the mountain for that reason." He smiled, but the hobbit could see a slight degree of discomfort. That explained the sash, he supposed.

"Well, I suddenly feel very lucky, then," was Bilbo's response. "Most people in the Shire would rather fight a dragon than listen to me natter on about history, so it never occurred to me that there might be a place where people would be interested." He grinned at Ori, who looked shocked for a moment but then grinned back. "As for where to go, honestly, Lady Dis asked me the same thing and I'm not sure. I definitely need new clothes, for I feel like a vagabond in these tattered old rags. I would also love to meet the cook who made the sweet rolls I was served at breakfast, Bombur I think she said was the name, and anyway if I'm going to be staying here I will want to see the kitchens and make arrangements to use them to cook some little things for myself." Ori looked confounded for a moment, but slowly nodded, though his concerned expression didn't fade.

"Bilbo," he said slowly, "I'm not sure how it will look if you start cooking. That's not a very prestigious job here, I'm afraid, and... well... people will talk." Bilbo closed his eyes, helpless before the wave of irritation that swept through him. I have gone from a place where people are expected to cook and never look at a person of the same sex to a place where people can marry who they please but aren't supposed to cook, he mused angrily. Is there anywhere in the world that I'm allowed to just get on with what I feel I'm supposed to do in my own manner? Probably not, he was forced to conclude. He opened his eyes to a very worried looking Ori.

"I'm afraid people will talk anyway, Ori my friend," the hobbit replied in a brittle tone, "I'm marrying their prince, I'm a hobbit, what's another thing to gossip about, more or less? I shan't give up cooking just because people want to chinwag about it, and that's a fact." Another thought struck him, and he spoke quickly before Ori could respond. "And if it isn't prestigious, perhaps it should be! Nothing says more about how welcome someone is than the quality of food that is served, whether that someone is a beggar or the king of the world." Ori gave him a dubious look, but gave a half-hearted nod. Bilbo sighed deeply. "Still, I suppose if it's that scandalous even to visit a kitchen, I ought to be better dressed for it. I shouldn't want people to think Thorin went to the Shire just to hire a cook. Take me to a decent tailor in the market, I can..." Bilbo trailed off, realizing for the first time that he didn't have any money with him at all, not even a bent copper farthing. He supposed he could ask Thorin for some money, but the long-neglected Baggins in him bristled at the notion. The very idea of having to beg an allowance of someone else! He had always had money enough for whatever he wanted, if not in his study, in the coffers at the Exchange in Michel Delving. Except... here he didn't. This far away from the Shire, he had nothing, not even a reputation to trade on. With a feeling of despair, it came crashing down on him just how out of place he was. He was in a city he had never heard of before the spring, surrounded by people he didn't know, whose language he wasn't permitted to study... In horror, he realized he didn't even know how to get from his room to anywhere, or how to get back if he did! Ori's gentle hand on his arm and calm voice cut through his growing panic.

"There's no need to go to the market for that, Bilbo; Thorin will have the royal tailors make you anything you want. You're to be the Prince Consort," the scribe said consolingly, "not a cook or anything else. I know this must be overwhelming, but after what we have all been through, this should be easy, come on." Tugging at his arm, Ori led Bilbo towards the door, but stopped and gave him a speculative look. "Do you have your spare travel clothes?" Bilbo nodded, unsure where this was headed, but Ori smiled broadly. "Good. Get them," as he pulled the bellrope for the servants. By the time Bilbo was back, carrying the coat with grease stains on it, the pants with the rip in the knee and the dirty waistcoat (along with a shirt that before the trip would have long since gone to the rag bin), an impassive servant appeared. Taking the bundle of cloth from him, Ori foisted the whole pile off on the servant. "Take these to the royal tailors, have replacements made in the same cut and size for Prince Thorin's companion, and in the best cloth, mind you. This is urgent. If they wish to confirm it with the prince, do so, but quickly. In his absence, confirm with the Lady Dis. Time is of the essence." The servant bowed without a change of expression and vanished with the clothes, leaving Bilbo standing there bewildered. Laughing, Ori said "You're practically royalty now, Bilbo, get used to ordering servants around." 

"Are you royal?" Bilbo asked, "because you certainly seem to be skilled at it. Ordering servants around, I mean." Ori chuckled.

"No, far from it. My brothers and I were poor, but when I entered training as a Scribe, we got a much more intensive course than Balin has given you of how to act at every level of society," he said.

"Ori!" Bilbo said, shocked. "You never mentioned that you have brothers! Where are they? Who are they? You must tell me about your family," the hobbit hoped he wasn't being intrusive, but relaxed at the open grin that spread across the young scribe's face.

"Fine, but just remember you asked for it," came the response. "I have two brothers, Dori and Nori, and they couldn't be more different..." and with that, wending tales of the adventures of his two siblings, Ori led Bilbo back out into the hall he remembered from the previous night, out past the guard, and into the Royal Quarters. After only a few twists and turns, they passed through a low door, cut discreetly into the stone behind a decorative column, and found themselves in a quite small and somewhat rough looking hall (practically a tunnel, the hobbit thought sourly), though it was lit with sconces that held the same glowing crystal that appeared in the lamps. Servants rushed here and there, giving them surprised looks as they passed, though the sight of Ori's scribal sash seemed to alleviate any questions. Eventually they came out into a bustling set of kitchens (though Bilbo noted with amusement and chagrin that even Ori had to ask for directions once) which were far more cavernous than any kitchen Bilbo had ever seen. 

The smells of food cooking immediately made the hobbit feel more at home than he had anywhere since coming to the mountain. Hearths the length of a room blazed with entire cows and pigs roasting on them, dwarves hard at work turning the spits, basting the roasts and chopping ingredients at tables in the middle of the room. A bank of brick ovens lined one wall with fires beneath them, tended by sweating, shirtless dwarves with blackened faces and hands. To one side, four dwarves stood pounding, kneading, and folding what Bilbo recognized from the texture as a (to his experienced eye) somewhat soupy dough, probably for an egg bread. Just thinking about it made him salivate. In the middle of the kitchen, barking orders in a mixture of Westron and Khuzdul, was quite the fattest dwarf Bilbo had ever seen. He was even larger than Grar, but as they drew near and he turned to beam at them, Bilbo was pleased to realize that this dwarf had all the kindness in his face that Grar had been missing. His chin was bare, oddly enough, but his auburn sideburns were braided together into a thick rope that stretched across his enormous belly. Most comforting of all to the hobbit, a stripe of flour covered one of his upper sleeves and spotted a side of his face. Tiny, joyful eyes peered out of a fringe of auburn hair and a loud voice boomed out a welcome.

"Mercy," the dwarf shouted, "a Scribe in the Royal Kitchens! Welcome, welcome, what brings you down..." the dwarf noticed Bilbo standing beside Ori and stopped, confounded. "Er... Greetings, yes, welcome to... to the both of you. Bombur the chef at your service." The heavyset dwarf bowed. Bilbo fought the urge to roll his eyes at the formality, because he very much wanted to get along with Bombur. Anyone who could make sweet rolls like those he had eaten this morning was a friend to be treasured.

"Bilbo Baggins at yours and your family's, Master Bombur!" Bilbo smiled as cheekily as he could. "I'm sure my appearance is a bit surprising to you, but I am a hobbit, a people of the Shire far away to the West, here as a... traveling companion of your Prince Thorin," Bilbo said, momentarily at a loss for words. Ori's snort of amusement didn't do anything to help, either. Best get past this part, he thought grimly. "Some of your sweet rolls were brought to my room, and I simply had to meet the dwarf who cooked them. They were magnificent! The crumb was perfect, the texture was moist and had just enough cream, and I noted that you put enough salt in the dough that they weren't insipid like sweet things so often are, when cooked by unskilled hands! And that glaze! Truly a masterpiece." Bombur, in listening to this, had clearly gone from confusion to recognizing a fellow cook. He laughed, leaning back and letting his giant belly jiggle with delight.

"Mahal yes, salt is key, but I can't get the youngsters here to listen! I can tell you are no stranger to the baking arts yourself, Master... Baggins, was it?" Bombur grinned cheerfully at them both and waved at a table in the middle of the room which was currently unused. "Sit a while, and let's talk about food! I haven't had a fellow chef to chat with in ages! I'd love to show you around, and we'll have a tour of the kitchen and larder in a bit if you wish, but it's hungry work coming all the way down here... Have some food! Here, Unid, get us some of the roast from breakfast, and a pork pie each, and some of the sweet rolls if any are left! Oh, and one of the persimmon tarts! And..." he wandered off with another dwarf, still talking about the contents of the larder, and Bilbo licked his lips and ignored Ori's sigh. For the first time since leaving his own comfortable smial, suddenly he felt at home again. Within a short time, Bombur reappeared, carrying a tray that was groaning with samples of this and that, and his companion had a second one almost as heavy. After another brief expedition for tea and beer, Bombur settled himself on a bench and passed three plates around which looked to be of carved and polished dark stone. "Take what you want, good sirs! Eat up, eat up, can't have food going to waste!" Bilbo laid into the spread provided with a will, since food had been scarce on the whole trip with the exception of their brief stay with Thranduil, but Ori looked overwhelmed at the selection. Bombur took no notice, throwing food onto whichever plate he thought looked empty. He and Bilbo traded recipes and tips and cooking tricks and generally sized each other up as all cooks tended to do, and by the end Bilbo was forced to conclude that if he wanted to bring a dwarf back to the Shire that would convince the dowdy hobbit matrons that dwarves were fit company, it would have to be Bombur. Something odd struck Bilbo as he idly nibbled his third type of fruit pastry.

"Master Bombur, do dwarves not use spices? I notice each of these has masterfully precise sugar and salt, with honey in the apples, and they're lovely, don't mistake me," he said, suddenly worried that he might cause offense, "but I notice that there's no cinnamon nor cloves in the apple pies, nor cardamom in the berries. Do such things not come to the markets here, then?" Bombur's eyebrows drew down, but his face looked more concerned than offended. He leaned in so his words weren't so loud.

"The provisioners won't buy them for us," he said in a low voice, practically whispering. Ori looked embarrassed for some reason, but Bilbo was confused. "Too expensive, they said. Lucky to get pepper, and of course we have our own salt caves, but naught else I'm afraid. We used to have great piles of all the spices when I were a lad, but no more, not for years. I miss them, truly I do, and you're right, but I don't know what's to be done for it. They don't even bring spices to the market here much, seeing as most folks don't buy them." Bombur looked away and sighed gustily. "Was so nice, too, cloves in the ham, allspice in the beef, cumin in the beans, but no, no... I have to send one of the boys to Dale to even buy vanilla beans. Quiet like, you understand. Can't make proper custards without them." Bilbo was shocked.

"Indeed you can't!" the hobbit sputtered loudly, forgetting for a moment that they were supposed to be speaking quietly. "What do you mean, too expensive! What on earth do they..." Ori clutched urgently at Bilbo's sleeve, giving him a warning look when he looked over. Apparently this wasn't a topic to explore, the hobbit thought in surprise, but he would ask Thorin about it later, indeed he would. Leaving aside the sheer preposterousness of any assertion about 'expense' while living in a golden palace, he wouldn't have the vaguest notion of how to cook some of his favorite desserts without spices, and that simply wasn't on. "Well, at any rate," Bilbo said, visibly settling himself while noticing Bombur's grateful look, "you certainly do a wonderful job without them, I don't know many cooks who could do half so well." Looking around and noticing the covert glances from all the other dwarves present, Bilbo suddenly remembered the rest of Bombur's offer. "How about that tour?"

After a thorough tour of the kitchens and storerooms and getting Bombur's shocked but pleased permission to use the kitchens whenever he wished, Bilbo rather thought it was a good day. He still wanted to go to the market and see what food was for sale, and talked Ori into taking him down despite the fact that they were both barely able to walk from being so overfull. They made their gradual way down by a different path than they had taken on the way up the previous day, though Bilbo found it just as confusing; every path to anywhere in Erebor seemed to involve multiple trips across bridges hanging in open space. Unlike the previous day, though, Ori talked as he went, explaining each of the districts they passed through, who lived there, what businesses or guilds were based there, and so forth. It was also nice to be able to make the trip at a reasonable stroll instead of a dead run, Bilbo thought with amusement, though the constant stares and odd looks the hobbit got from everyone were beginning to be a bit irritating. Ori's status as a Scribe turned out to be a gift, however; as soon as the strip of cloth was seen, everyone turned away and seemed to feel that everything was under control. Despite the young Scribe's warning in Bilbo's room, he had only been stopped once for a hurried consultation in rapidfire Khuzdul, and the thankful dwarf bowed his way away even before the hobbit had finished examining all the carvings in the hall they happened to be passing through. Better yet, once they approached the Great Market, Bilbo finally felt like the food filling his belly had settled enough to be comfortable.

Although they had passed through the Market the night before, Bilbo hadn't been paying attention to anything but Thorin and not getting lost. Now in the light of day, the Great Market of Erebor was beyond anything he had ever imagined. He had tried, in the hall of Sarkhubuland, to picture what the space must have looked like when it was full and running normally, but nothing could have prepared him for this. Luckily he had a knowledgeable tour guide in the person of Ori, and the Scribe explained how things worked. The Market was arranged in four quarters, with wide roads between them and seven rings of stalls spreading out from the giant statue of Mahal in the center. Specific stalls were identified by a ring number, a stall number, and then the designation 'in' or 'out', to tell which side they were on; Bilbo thought it ingenious. One quarter held hard crafts, such as all metalcrafts and smithwork (including weapons and armor), jewelry, woodwork, glass and mechanisms, including the occasional toy stall and several that stocked items Bilbo didn't recognize at all. Another held soft crafts, from textiles to clothing to soaps and perfumes, dyes and furs and all manner of other exotic items. Food was in a third quarter, and included all sorts of traveling food stands and spots where passersby could purchase anything from a portable snack to a full meal. The fourth quarter was the stone quarter, and this boggled the hobbit's mind completely. Everything stone was available and on display, from rough gems to cut gems down to stone blocks and slabs of all sizes, exotic colors and types of stone in a dazzling profusion of shapes and sizes. There were also statues there, ranging from crude to astonishingly detailed, some with faces waiting to be finished (presumably to reflect the buyer), and stone furniture. Bilbo even saw an elaborately carved stone bed, though the idea of resting on such an item baffled him completely. Ori explained upon being asked that the truly traditional dwarves preferred to sleep on stone slabs since it was thought to be the 'old way' and closest to Mahal, but most including even many senior Scribes had ceased the practice. 

Even more confounding than the stone bed was when Ori told him that over thirty thousand dwarves lived in Erebor; why, that was practically the population of the Shire, he thought in dismay. Apparently it had been over fifty thousand before Azanulbizar, which cast a grim light on just how many were lost. Green Lady, Bilbo thought in astonishment, and they all live here in this mountain? No wonder everything is so crowded! They wandered through the food section and Bilbo saw that Bombur was right, not a spice in sight in most stalls, though there was all sorts and qualities of produce and quite a wonderful selection of cheeses and preserves. He found a small box of cloves at one stall and the owner (a tiny, shrivelled dwarf with barely two teeth to his name and a beard so long it almost reached the floor) insisted that he take it without paying once he saw the hobbit's interest. In a hurried exchange of Khuzdul, the shopkeeper explained through Ori that he saw Bilbo come in with Thorin and the Axe of Dain, and it was the least he could do for a 'hero of the dwarven people'. After repeated insistence, Bilbo took it and thanked the old dwarf effusively, then they went on, leaving the shopkeeper beaming in delight as they departed. Bilbo wasn't certain how he felt about being thought a hero, but he could certainly get some use out of the cloves.

Shortly after the bell rang to signal midafternoon, Bilbo was tired and asked Ori if they could start back to his chambers. He remembered the long hike of the previous night with morbid dread, and thought that if they set off now he might rest a bit before dinner (whatever the arrangements for dinner turned out to be). As they turned towards the back of the Market and the stairs, though, a massive drumbeat echoed through the open space, making the hobbit's ears ring. Ori went pale and said "Oh, Mahal's tears. The King." Another drumbeat sounded, and the market sounds dropped away as everyone stopped what they were doing and stood, staring. A third drumbeat and Ori grabbed Bilbo's arm. "Come, we have to get you to safety. Now!" He started hurrying, pushing people out of the way and relying on his sash to provide an explanation. It seemed to work, despite an occasional glare nobody protested as Bilbo scurried along behind him. More slow drumbeats throbbed around them from the unseen drum far above.

"Ori!" He gasped. "What's happening? Is the mountain under attack?" Ori shook his head grimly as the seventh beat of the drum echoed, and silence fell, then a horn blew and a ululating call started, being picked up by voice after voice through the vast open spaces over the market. They stopped moving abruptly, and the sound intensified strongly as Bilbo looked over to see Ori producing the call with his head thrown back. The Scribe was holding up his hand to stop Bilbo from talking, but even the hobbit wouldn't have asked anything at this moment. The call Ori and the unseen others produced sounded like drawn-out sobbing, and was quite the eeriest sound Bilbo had heard a living throat make. The call ended and the drum beat twice more, quickly, at which Ori chanted along with other hidden dwarves:

_Shaghun, ran ran, Shaghun_  
_Shaghun, tak tak, Shaghun_  
_Shaghun, hen hen, Shaghun_

With each repetition of the phrase, the central syllables changed, and Ori stomped his feet loudly at each syllable to mark each one. Looking around, Bilbo spotted another dwarf far down the road ahead wearing the sash of a Scribe who was chanting and stamping in time with Ori. The sound filled the mountain, though most dwarves that Bilbo could see were kneeling, praying, or staring blankly around themselves. The horn blew again, long and powerful, and suddenly everything was in motion. The market turned into chaos, everyone trying to leave at once, and Ori grabbed Bilbo's arm. "The King is dead. We must get you somewhere safe immediately. I wonder if the elves... no, it's too far to the barracks. Damn. Thorin will be livid if I leave you, but I must get to the Scriptorium." After a terrifying moment of indecision, the young Scribe said "I have it," and dragged Bilbo off with him. Once again, the halls and turns flew by, but this time they ended up in what looked to Bilbo like a residential quarter pounding on a closed door. Nobody answered, and Ori resolutely hammered away at it again. Finally the door was jerked open, revealing a furious Nar, beard bristling.

"Are you mad or deaf? The King is dead! We're closed, like... Ori?" He looked over. "Ah... Bilbo. Come in, quickly." He stepped back and they rushed past him and he slammed and barred the door. Nar's words penetrated in a way that Ori's hadn't.

"The King is... oh, Thorin," Bilbo said helplessly, feeling tears spring to his eyes. The other two seemed to be ignoring the hobbit completely.

"I have to get back to the Scriptorium, if I'm not there in full robes within the hour, Master Imalek will have me flayed," the Scribe was saying. "Bilbo would have troubles enough wandering the halls alone on a normal day, but today of all days he must be protected. Can you take care of him?" Nar grunted and nodded. The hobbit felt a bit annoyed at being passed over like a parcel, but forced himself to calm down and admit that Ori was right in one respect; even if he walked out the door, he would have no more idea how to get back to his rooms than find his way back to the Shire by himself.

"Aye," Nar said gruffly. "I can take him to the Palace; they'll know what to do. If all else fails, I'll take him to Dwalin, he'd know where Thorin is." He looked at Ori fondly. "Go on, lad, it will be fine." The young dwarf's face reflected desperation and indecision, but finally he nodded.

"I have to go." He turned and seized Bilbo by the shoulders. "Be safe, Bilbo. Remember what I told you. Trust Nar, and do what he says, but only trust people you know, or that Thorin tells you to trust, at least until things are settled. And for the love of the Stone, don't go off alone with anyone strange." At the hobbit's hesitant nod, he smiled. "Good. I will see you soon, in better days. Nar, my thanks." And with that he was gone. Nar blew out a heavy breath and glanced over at Bilbo where he sat, looking around himself in confusion.

"Welcome to Erebor, eh? You're probably wondering just what in the seven kingdoms is going on." Bilbo nodded firmly. Nar laughed. "Not surprised. You come and the whole place goes mad. Death of a king is always fraught, everyone gets a bit twitchy, changing of the guard, you know how it goes. Thing is, this is a bit different, and worse. Thorin stormed out of here with the rest of us a year ago, after he and his father had a terrible row. Nobody knows what exactly was said but all know it was ugly. I think it was about Grar and his crew, myself. Thrain was gold-sick for twenty years or more, but none acknowledged it; he gave Grar and his mates free rein as long as the gold kept piling up. They put their friends in positions of authority, and the more friends they had, the more they took and gouged out of everyone else. But at any rate, Thorin was gone for over a year. He comes back with the Axe and crown, and suddenly old Thrain dies. Now he's been dying for months, but the regular folk don't see that, do they? All they see is that the prince that fought with his father comes back and suddenly his father dies and the prince is king, and ain't that convenient? Grar's digging with a pick in each hand on that vein, you can be sure, especially after Thorin almost lopped off his head in front of the king's door last night. Pity he didn't, if you ask me. So the worry is that Thorin might be in a bad position," Nar raised his eyebrows significantly at Bilbo, "not to mention how vulnerable he would be if his One were to be captured, harmed or killed." Suddenly Ori's concerns made a great deal more sense to Bilbo, and the hobbit cursed himself for insisting that they go out in public at the market. Why didn't Ori tell me any of this before, was all that he could think.

"Oh," was all Bilbo could say. His head was whirling. "Is... he'll be alright, won't he?" Nar grinned broadly.

"Who, Thorin? Och aye, lad, he'll be fine. Thorin's been heir for almost a century, longer than Grar's been Chamberlain, that's for sure, even if he hadn't come back home with the Axe of bloody Dain! It will just be a dance for him. First year or two are going to be difficult, though, no mistake about that. Council will be wearing the real crown for a bit, even if he's allowed to fill his posts right away." Nar chuckled, staring off into space for a moment. "Then again, he'll have to, at least for the Chamberlain. Even the High Council isn't stupid enough to think Thorin will put up with Grar. Between you and me, I suspect young Ori that just left here with his rump on fire will be the new Chamberlain, he knows the lore backwards and forwards and he's a bright young thing." The broad dwarf's eyes twinkled above his long beard. "Though I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell him I thought so, wouldn't want his head to swell."

"Of course," Bilbo said faintly.

"Now," Nar clapped his hands together loudly, "let me fetch my axe and suit up, and we'll see about getting you home safe and sound. Do you remember where you are?" Bilbo shook his head.

"The Blue Guestroom, if that..." Nar was nodding before he could even finish the sentence. Within a few moments, they were stepping lightly out the door and moving down the halls at speed. Traveling with Nar was unlike traveling with Ori; he was silent, except to point or shake his head, and they went through many passages that Bilbo was certain weren't on the main routes, either designed for servant traffic or (in the case of some filthy, dimly-lit passages) forgotten entirely. Unlike the ramps and gradual rises of the routes from the previous night and earlier in the day, here there were actual stairs, and Bilbo came to dread rounding a corner or opening a stone door to reveal even more steps leading upwards. By the time they reached the familiar guard post, Bilbo's feet felt like they were about to fall off. Nar opened Bilbo's door and stepped inside, then beckoned. As the hobbit entered, Thorin leaped up from where he was sitting beside the fire, tear tracks still on his face. They ran into each others' arms to the sound of Nar chuckling.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thorin expresses concern and he and Bilbo find a moment's peace together, Dis lays out the political situation, everyone's temper is lost and an unwelcome discovery is made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a bit to post, it's been a long week. I love you all, and thank you for the kind comments and kudos and most of all for reading along on this adventure!

As always, the warmth of Thorin's body was like hugging a furnace, though the dwarf's arms were tighter than usual about the hobbit's shoulders, and his beard was scratching Bilbo's neck from the close grasp as well. "Thorin?" Bilbo gasped, half-smothered by the clutching embrace. "Are you hurt?" The only response was a nose pressed into his blondish curls, before finally the prince pulled back to glare at Bilbo with reddened eyes.

"Where have you been!" Thorin half-shouted. "I came to your rooms and you weren't here and... I worried that..." The dark-haired dwarf looked half-crazed, blue eyes furious and terrified at the same time. "How dare Ori just abandon you out there? Doesn't he know that it's the most important thing that you be safe? I thought he was trustworthy, but if this is..." Nar cleared his throat meaningfully from beside the door.

"Begging your pardon, Thorin, but Ori didn't exactly go off and leave Bilbo alone to find his way home. He brought him to me, and if you don't think he's safe with me I'd like to know why. Besides, they were all the way down in the Great Market when the drum sounded, and came to me as soon as the Song of Loss was done. Wasn't like Ori wanted to leave, but he had to; you know old Imalek would pull his head off and use it for an anvil if he wasn't back at the Scriptorium for the ceremonies." Nar didn't move from beside the door, but his exasperation was clear in his voice. Thorin looked over at Nar from where he stood still wrapped around the hobbit like a clinging vine. His arms finally released enough that Bilbo could breathe again, and the hobbit surreptitiously took a few deep breaths.

"Yes," the prince finally said, "I suppose you make a fair point." He growled wordlessly, looking down at Bilbo then back at Nar. "I just thought... well, I imagined..."

"Ori made the best of a bad situation. 'Sides, Master Baggins is here safe and sound, and none the wiser." Nar grinned at Thorin, a mischievous look on his face. "If it were me, I'd sit and get some quality time with my One before someone else showed up, seein' as how I'm stuck guarding the door and find it a bit difficult to be a proper chaperone. I won't answer for what happens if your sister or Balin show up, though, so don't get too deep in the mine." Thorin flushed and glared at the stocky Broadbeam, but his mouth betrayed him by smiling. Bilbo felt humiliated; was there a single dwarf alive that didn't feel the need to comment on his personal matters? He pulled himself away from Thorin and went across the room to sit by the fire on the couch, not making eye contact with his intended. Soon enough the seat sank beneath the weight of his dwarf next to him. Nar very obtrusively turned to face the door, taking an exaggerated guard position with his axe, but Bilbo could see the edge of his grin even from here.

"I am glad to see you well, _azyungel_," Thorin said softly. The polite form of the words had an undertone of desperation that said more than the empty forms of manners ever could. Bilbo looked up, feeling rather cross, but melted at the sight of Thorin's reddened eyes and tear-stained face. The rich robes he wore were wrinkled and fussed from a long and stressful day.

"Oh, Thorin," the hobbit sighed. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry about your father most of all; that's a terrible thing. I remember." He leaned over and put his arms around the broad shoulders, shifting a bit to lean his head in for comfort. Thorin shook his head mutely, and took a shuddering breath.

"I would rather not talk about it," was his response, the usually smooth baritone voice ragged now from stress and weariness.

"Well, then we won't," Bilbo said quietly. "There are things we need to talk about, love, but not now. Just sit, if you want. I'm here. I'll be here as long as you need me." He leaned back and pulled his dwarf back against his chest. Thorin was heavy, but the hobbit was willing to endure a little discomfort. He rubbed the thick arms and broad shoulders through the heavy damask of his robes, trying to communicate without words the ideas of safety and peace. Slowly, he felt the tension leave the stocky body lying on his, muscles relaxing and breath coming a little more easily. Finally, unexpectedly, Thorin spoke.

"It was strange," he said quietly. Bilbo waited and kept stroking the strong muscles under the rich fabric before him, willing to listen or not as needed. Finally a sigh, followed by more words. "My father always tried to be strong, but... he wouldn't stand up to my grandfather. I don't think he could. _Sigin'adad_ was like an avalanche in motion, not many could resist him. When I was a child, my father didn't talk much." Blue eyes flickered, then slipped shut, but the words kept flowing. "Then all at once he became king and we lost Frerin. After that, he talked even less. When... When _amad_ died, I think she was what kept him sane as long as he was. Once she was gone..." Thorin gave another shudder and Bilbo held him tightly. "Once she was gone, his mind slid away. He was never right after that. I hoped... when I left Erebor, he was healthy, just mad. But when we came back... he was shriveled and so thin, his hair had fallen out and most of his beard was gone, he was... Bilbo, he starved himself. He wouldn't eat food, but the doctors said he had been eating gold and gems in secret and that they had destroyed his stomach." The prince grabbed Bilbo's hand and held it to his face like a handkerchief, and tears wet it. "He was eating stones! I never knew he was _that_ mad. I didn't know. I couldn't... Mahal, how could I leave him like that?"

"You didn't know, Thorin," he said softly. "You couldn't know. You went and risked your life to save him, even when you were furious at him. You were a good son." Thorin shook his head, sobbing now, but the hobbit pressed his hand into the soft beard, turned his beloved's face towards him. "Listen to me, Thorin. You did everything you could, and we came back as quickly as we could with the crown. There was nothing else to be done." Thorin's eyes shot open suddenly, and Bilbo felt the awful pain in them like a knife in his own gut.

"I looked at that feeble thing lying in that bed and thought 'that's not my father'. What son thinks that? I'm ashamed of myself, I don't deserve..." Bilbo put his finger across Thorin's lips.

"'Deserve', indeed! That's quite enough of that, you ridiculous dwarf! You are amazingly brave, you were a good son, I said, and what's more you are a good dwarf who will be a good king. And I love you, so I won't listen to anyone insult you, and that includes you yourself, Thorin Oakenshield! You went out and risked your life on a chance of helping your father. A bad person wouldn't do that. A weak person couldn't do that. You have expectations for yourself that nobody could meet." A stifled huff of laughter was the only response, but Bilbo hoped that his words had sunk in. Silence fell, but it was calmer and more companionable. Bilbo watched the flames dance and flicker in the hearth, listening to the snap and pop of sap pockets exploding inside the logs in the hearth. The warmth was comforting, and if not for the heavy weight on him he would be dozing already. After a few minutes, the hobbit glanced down and was surprised to see Thorin's eyes open and watching him.

"How did I survive before I found you, my heart?" the dwarf said quietly. Bilbo's only response was to shush him, though he could feel his face reddening. Thorin stared into the flames for a bit. "The crown did work," he said in a tiny voice. "It brought him back, at the end. He was overcome with shame at what he had become. He wouldn't..." the dwarf took a ragged breath. "He couldn't face us. He hid his face and wept. Bilbo, _azyungel_, until that moment I had never seen my father weep. When his son died, when his wife died, when his father died, he was silent. He grieved, grieved bitterly, but he never wept. But when I put the crown on his head he drew a breath and he cried for seeing what he had done. I apologized for all the things I had said and done, and he said... he said..." Thorin's face was covered in tears now. "He said it was time for me to be king, that he had failed." He took the hobbit's hand in a viselike grip. "All I brought my father was pain and knowledge of his own failure."

"You brought your father clarity, and a chance to make his peace with his children before he died, Thorin. That is a gift more precious than anything else in this mountain." Bilbo gently wiped the tears from his beloved's face. "Listen to me, love." At Thorin's continued refusal to open his eyes, Bilbo ran his hand into the thick, dark hair and tugged, provoking a shocked opening of tearful blue eyes. He met the dwarf's gaze unflinchingly, lips compressed into a thin line. "Listen to me, I said. When I was barely a tween, my mother was killed in a winter colder than any we had known before. She went out for food and... The wolves came down into the Shire that winter. We didn't know what to do. We don't have warriors there; you've seen Hobbiton. We were helpless, and so we died. She died. Once she was gone, my father slipped into a deep melancholy. Finally he stopped eating, stopped responding, and would just lie in his bed and stare at the wall. Sometimes he would talk to her like she was there. I heard him sometimes at night talking to an empty room, telling her he was coming to find her. I couldn't bring my father any clarity, Thorin. He died without a word to me, right in front of me and a thousand leagues away at the same time. You gave your father a great gift, and yourself as well. Cherish it." Thorin's tears had stopped, and slowly his hand came up to cup Bilbo's face from where he lay.

"I am sorry, _azyungel_," Thorin said. "You must think me very selfish."

"No," Bilbo said sadly, "I think you are grieving, and I think it is the most natural thing in the world. I would take this pain away from you if I could, my love, but I can't. All I can say is that it gets better in time. You never forget, but the hurt fades and the memory remains. Now just lie here with me." He leaned down and pressed a kiss into the worry lines on Thorin's forehead, smoothing dark hair back to do so. Slowly, the prince's breathing evened out and he slipped into a doze as Bilbo held his beloved's head on his chest and felt a wave of such tenderness sweep through him he thought he might crack open like an egg. Look at me, he thought in amusement. All those months ago, I left my smial as a respectable hobbit, never imagining a future where I would be the betrothed of a dwarven prince, let alone a future where I would act as the pillow for one (as he gave a soft look at the jet and silver hair spreading across his chest where Thorin lay). If someone had told me that what my life was missing was a great lump of irritable dwarf prince, I'd have told them off in no uncertain terms, but here I am, and here's the dwarf, and I don't remember being this happy since I was a fauntling. Funny how things work out.

A peremptory knock sounded on his door, and Nar barely had a chance to stand up before the door was flung open to reveal Lady Dis charging into the room under full steam. Looking around the chamber, she saw Thorin sprawled out asleep on top of Bilbo and her eyes widened in shock. She drew herself up, but as her mouth opened Bilbo held his finger to his lips and gave her a glare that he suspected even Thorin would have been proud to claim. She stopped dead in her tracks, then looked over to where Nar stood facing the door, axe still in his hands. "Balin was correct. You really are useless as a chaperone, aren't you?" she said in a conversational tone.

"Lady Dis, always a pleasure," Nar replied cheerfully, sketching a bow. She rolled her eyes at him, making him chuckle.

"Always the joker, old friend. Well, Nar, I'm afraid the time for jokes is over. Thorin is too proud to ask you himself, but I'm not. We need you to make your peace with Fror and take the oaths." All Nar's good humor vanished immediately. Bilbo thought for a moment that the burly Broadbeam was about to shout at her but in the end he didn't, just looked at his feet with his jaw set and his beard bristling. "We don't ask it lightly. Thorin needs a 'keeper for his court, and there's none we trust like you." Dis' face was surprisingly sympathetic, Bilbo thought. "I'll beg if it will help. We need you. The Council is..."

"Aye," Nar grumbled. "They're a bunch of hidebound twits, I know. But you ask a lot, Princess." She nodded soberly.

"I won't insult you by offering you a reward," she said. "If there was anything you wanted, you'd have it from us whether you reconcile with the guild or not. You stood by Thorin when few would, and we will never forget that. If what I ask is too much, I understand. But it would be too much help not to ask you if you would do it." Bilbo thought she looked more regal tonight than he had seen her yet; rich brocaded robes in the royal blue of the house of Durin, hair up in an elaborate set of braids and ties, beard threaded with golden beads. She wore her mourning more secretly than her brother, but knowing Thorin so well he could see where her eyes were tense and sad, her shoulders tight, her hands bunched up in the fabric of her robes. Nar sighed and grumbled, but Bilbo knew already he would accept, and so did Dis. Finally he nodded and looked away.

"I'll see what I can do," he mumbled. She smiled and clasped his shoulder briefly, then turned to Bilbo and her brother, walking halfway across the room and looking down at them on their couch.

"Now what are we going to do with you two," she said quietly. Her scornful expression was half-hearted, but Bilbo suspected that she was only willing to play along with him as far as she had because she knew herself how badly Thorin needed the sleep. "You're both a disgrace to the concept of dwarven courtship. Look at this vulgar display." All Bilbo could do was glare, because if he spoke he knew Thorin would wake immediately. He quietly seethed but didn't respond. Despite his best efforts, though, a sleepy voice rose from somewhere around his chest.

"Don't let her proper matron act fool you, _azyungel_," came a baritone mumble from somewhere beneath the rumpled dark hair, "she and Vili were a scandal for months. She's just angry she didn't catch us naked like they would have been." Dis' furious spluttering was music to his pointy ears, and the hobbit's cheeky grin made Dis laugh in spite of herself. Even Nar laughed, though he never looked over at them, and Bilbo blushed all over again to realize that the Broadbeam had likely heard their whole conversation. Dis' scowl came right back, and this time she knew Thorin was awake. Bilbo braced himself for the explosion.

"Even if that were true," she said primly, "which it is _not_, it is different when it's the younger child of the heir as opposed to the person who's effectively already king. There's an example to be set for..." she squawked in what Bilbo hoped was mock outrage as Thorin rolled over without moving an inch and threw his arms around the hobbit, kissing him deeply until he saw stars and quite forgot that Dis or anyone else was in the room. "Ridiculous," he heard as if from a distance. When his dwarf released him, Bilbo lay stunned for a moment, face burning from the scratch of a short black beard that had dragged all sense out of his head. With an impatient shake of her head, Dis poked Thorin and Bilbo both with a strong and unaccountably pointy finger. "Get up! Both of you. We have planning to do. Master Baggins, since you seem determined to marry into this family, Mahal knows why, come along and see what you've gotten yourself into... and don't say you weren't warned." Thorin grumbled but stood obediently, and Bilbo fought his way to his feet. The hobbit watched as Thorin the person subsided and the prince emerged, emotions concealed behind the apparently stoic, bored face that Thorin wore at formal events. Bilbo knew it was irrational to do so, but he hated that face, especially since it had tormented him with its impenetrability for over a month in the beginning of their journey. Nevertheless he joined Dis and Thorin at the table nearby.

"I figured you'd be here," she started abruptly. "It's just as well, because we can plan here uninterrupted, without half the court trying to track you down for some nonsense or other. Most won't think to look in the guest rooms. Nar, send for tea, would you? Get something stronger for yourself if you want, but we need all our wits for this tangle." The 'keeper nodded and went to pull the bellcord, and she whipped back around to Thorin. "Now. The council is in an uproar, and here's what I've seen while you were away. Grar has half-convinced them all you poisoned _adad_, though if they give that half a moment's thought they will see how ridiculous an idea it is, especially since you were off gathering up treasure at the time he was wasting away." Thorin nodded soberly, eyes focused and sharp. Bilbo couldn't imagine waking from a short nap after such an emotional day and being able to focus like this, but he supposed it was a skill you learned when you were royalty.

"So who do we have?" Thorin asked. "They never have liked me much."

Dis grimaced. "Minelord Kuguz remembers you fondly from that business with the lower southwest gold shaft, so he'll go along with anything you want within reason, though you remember what a coward he is - he won't buck the rest of the council if they are agreed. Irin needs to be removed from Provisions because he's robbing us blind, but he's got roots like a tree. He's been there long enough to get his own people in every position of strength in most of Provisions. Even worse, both he and Shar Master Builder are so deep in Grar's pocket they can't see a torch. They will fight you on everything, so be careful. Craftlord Tugur and Keeper Fror are both neutral, but neither of them think you're traditional enough. Same for Loremaster Imalek, of course, but I don't think Durin himself could be traditional enough for Imalek; at least you can work on Tugur and Fror. The Axe and Dragon Crown should help with them, because both are great treasures and better yet, they're traditional. As for Finance, Vur's honest but she's thrilled with the revenue from adad''s policies, and she doesn't see that they are killing trade - she's going to be a hard dwarf to convert. War is all stone, no ore - General Ragni is half-senile and obsessed with her great-grandson, so you might be able to promote him and get her to like you, but she's not all there so don't count on her to even remember who you are, let alone what you ask of her from one meeting to the next."

"So what you're saying is," Thorin said with a furious scowl, "we only have one supporter, with a possibility of two more if we can impress them, on a seven-person council?" A knock at the door interrupted them. They looked over, expecting to see the tea service arrive, but instead a servant appeared carrying a bundle of cloth. After a brief conversation with Nar, the servant bowed and left and he brought it over to the table.

"Clothes for Bilbo, it seems," he said, eyes twinkling above the beard.

"Clothes for..." Dis said blankly, looking at the bundle and then the hobbit. Suddenly her eyes snapped into focus and she looked him up and down closely. "Mahal's glowing hammer, that's something else we need to fix. Quite right, you can't go about looking like that. What you're wearing won't do at all. Well thought that you ordered some, but I doubt what they sent will be appropriate. I will take you to the tailors tomorrow personally. You're going to need quite a number of new clothes, whatever is in this pile." She flipped disdainfully through a pair of breeches made of some sort of pale grey wool that Bilbo thought looked quite nice, a ruffled shirt in snowy white linen, a beautiful waistcoat in some sort of dark patterned silk, and a coat of green velvet with golden buttons that made his fingers itch to feel it. All of it looked like it could have come from Burrows and Bragg in the Shire. "Trash," she said curtly, and to the hobbit's dismay threw the clothes in a pile onto a nearby chair.

"Now see here," he began sharply, but he felt Thorin's blunt fingers slide along his back. Glancing over, no eye contact was made but he saw Thorin give a subtle headshake. Grumbling under his breath, he stood up and went to collect the clothes, folding them neatly before setting them to one side. Dis hadn't even looked up, but a trace of smile told him what he needed to know. Aha, he thought grimly, so it's like that, is it? Taking a deep breath, he forced down his irritation. "Forgive me, but I'm a novice at politics in general, and here even more than that. What is to fear from the Council for Thorin if he's king?" Dis gave an exaggerated huff of displeasure, but Thorin sent an approving glance over at him.

"What isn't to fear, you mean! The Council can override anything he does if they can get all seven to agree. Balin's to be Minister, of course, but even as Minister Balin can only whip them so far. The only thing they can't force the king to do is give up his honor (because his honor is Erebor's honor, and by extension their own), or his life. But they can wreak havoc on his policies if they don't agree with them. Unfortunately, we have a real problem in that Grar and his cronies on the Council have been bleeding off money for themselves while our father was gold-mad, and they will fight like cornered badgers to keep their fingers in the purse. Thorin didn't help matters any when he started swinging that axe around in front of _adad's_ chambers last night, either. Thorin, who do you want for Chamberlain? Stupid as they are, they still can't force you to keep Grar on, so there's that at least."

"Ori," he said firmly, and Bilbo wondered how many of these conversations Nar had been around already. "He's got a good grasp of the lore, and he's smarter than Grar... he might be smarter than Imalek, not that I'd tell either of them that. With him on our side, if there's a way to make sure we're on the right side of the law we'll have it." She nodded, apparently unsurprised.

"I thought as much, and he's a good choice. Talk to him soon, then. Since you were too stubborn to do so, I asked Nar to serve as your 'keeper. He said he would try to make peace with Fror." Thorin's shocked look was brief, but Bilbo saw it.

"You're welcome, and you owe me even more than you did already," came the laconic call from the door, even though all that could be seen of the stocky dwarf was the back of his head. Thorin flushed and glowered at his sister, who ignored him completely. A knock at the door signaled the arrival of tea, which was brought to the table, and a tray of dumplings and other tidbits which was put in the kitchen. Bilbo's stomach gave a loud growl to remind him that he hadn't had dinner yet, and that his visit with Bombur in the kitchens was long ago. Before he could get up and go get some food, though, Dis' mouth drew down at the corners and she looked briefly and apologetically over at Bilbo before returning a glare to Thorin that was the mirror of his own to her. 

"Now, on to a thorny subject, and Master Baggins, I mean you no offense with any of this. Whether or not he is your One, Thorin, having a non-dwarf for a mate, let alone a consort, is going to be the scandal of the century. The Council is going to have a fit, it gives Grar even more ammunition to claim you are mad, and whole swathes of the public will be confused and angered. It will undo all the benefit with the Firebeards that you got from returning with the Dragon Crown." She poured a cup of tea for each of them and passed it around, ignoring Thorin's furious and mulish expression and Bilbo's look of shock as though she were commenting on the weather. "Are you," she said, looking frankly at Bilbo, "related to the rulers of your land? What can they offer Erebor? An alliance would go far to ease some of the questions at least, so tell us of your home. Is it rich and powerful? How strong is your military? Is it in a strategically important area?" The hobbit was adrift, and fought down the urge to burst out laughing at the image of a hobbit military.

"We... No. That is... I will try to answer your questions in order, if I recall them. We don't have rulers as such, though each borough of the Shire has a Thain which is an unofficial leader. While I am the grandson of the Thain of Tuckborough, it doesn't give me any special privileges, and I certainly couldn't negotiate any sort of treaty on behalf of the Shire, if that's what you're asking. The Shire itself is a very rich land, but not in gold or gems. We have excellent fertile soil, and we grow a great deal of food and pipeweed and the like. We don't have a military, or at least nothing you would recognize as such, we're mostly farmers and traders, though I'd remind you that it's all the way on the other side of the Misty Mountains. We do a good amount of commerce with the elves in Rivendell and the men to the south, especially the Eorlings of Rohan, as well as the dwarves left in the Blue Mountains. As for strategically important..." he looked helplessly at Thorin, who resembled nothing so much as a thunderhead about to throw lightning in all directions.

"I think we've heard about enough of this," Thorin growled, and Bilbo leaned back in spite of himself. He had never heard his beloved sound so furious, even when he was cursing the shadow monster.

"I don't care what you think," Dis responded in a similar tone, "I'm trying to get you on your own throne, while you seem determined to pick every fight you possibly can along the way!" The hobbit stood before he got caught in the crossfire and walked over to the food. Dis' shouting filled the room anyway, he grumbled to himself, not as though he would miss anything. "You come in, make a massive scene in the market, threaten the most politically connected dwarf in Erebor with beheading in front of the king's chamber, and bring a hobbit with you as a potential consort! Is there anything you haven't gotten around to yet that you'd like to tell me about? Were you planning to paint yourself blue and spend the rest of your life naked?" Nar's snickers were clearly audible as Bilbo opened the dishes. He was surprised to see the food they contained. The dumplings were in a heavy sauce, but they were strange looking, oddly misshapen, and the sauce had an oily look that didn't bode well. Having met Bombur just that morning, he couldn't imagine something that looked like this being plated and sent from the kitchen of a chef like that. The hobbit sniffed at the food and smelled a strange, sour smell under the smell of the sauce.

"Get out!" Thorin bellowed. "I've put up with enough of your insults for a lifetime, and I've only been back for two days! If you think being on the throne is so bloody wonderful, sit on it yourself! I'll..." Bilbo's hand on his shoulder caused him to look over.

"Sorry to interrupt, but..." Bilbo coughed awkwardly. "I think someone is trying to poison us."


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bilbo gets new clothes, the Council meets for the first time, everyone argues with everyone else, and Bilbo discovers that he should have paid more attention.

The next few days passed in a whirlwind of activity. The food that had been brought did turn out to be poisoned, though the search for the culprit was futile. Nar was unable to recognize the servant, and nobody had seen anything in the halls or kitchens. Bombur was furious, swearing to gut and bake whoever had defiled his kitchen's reputation with such filth. Bilbo's visit to the tailors with Dis was three disasters rolled into one, as she refused to consider that perhaps he might not be thrilled to dress in dwarven fashions, right down to the boots. By the third time the tailors were asked to leave so that she and Bilbo could have a 'discussion' (or shouting row, Bilbo thought, depending on which term you liked best) everyone including the tailors was thoroughly flustered and out of sorts. Bilbo ended up with clothes that suited nobody, so he supposed in a way that an equitable compromise was reached. They were far too dwarven to be appealing to a hobbit, covered in strong linear patterns on the outside, covering multiple layers of successively simpler garments, and the legs of the trousers were cut far too low, almost to the ankle, making the hobbit's lower legs feel uncomfortably constricted and pulling the hair on his shins. For her part, Dis was livid that he refused to wear boots, despite being told that covering the feet was a religious taboo among hobbits (really, Bilbo felt a bit remorseful for that white lie, but she did go on so about it!) Most frustrating of all, Ori showed up the day after the poisoning incident with three books on the kingdom of Gondor Bilbo had never even heard of, and he hadn't the chance to even examine them because Dis was dragging him from place to place all day every day. He had no idea where Thorin spent his days, since he hardly saw him, but Dis told him that the king was meeting with key figures in the government and kingdom. The only positive feature of the time was that Bilbo finally learned his way around the Royal Quarters and could make his way from place to place without feeling too lost.

The day of the first meeting of the new King and the High Council arrived. While Thorin hadn't been formally crowned yet there was no legitimate dispute to the succession, so there was no reason not to preside over the Council before his official crowning. Bilbo watched as Thorin paced and grumbled, carrying the Axe of Dain on his back and wearing the Dragon Crown on his brow. Bilbo was dressed in the new formal garb Dis had commissioned, with his feet groomed and brushed and his courting bead polished to a mirror shine. Despite his new finery, he missed spending time alone with his intended. The hobbit felt like he hadn't seen anything but prince Thorin (now King Thorin, he thought glumly) in days. Today would be no different; this was to be a full day of court, but Bilbo had to be introduced to the Council as Thorin's future consort, something that he was dreading. Dis was pacing along with Thorin, and Bilbo was trying not to listen to her constant muttering as she harangued Thorin and everyone else in earshot with indifferent success. Balin worked studiously at a desk nearby, ignoring everyone and making notations on some long document he had brought with him. Bilbo was startled when first Ori appeared wearing formal scribal robes and sash and then Nar came through the door like a storm cloud wearing some sort of elaborate brooch on one shoulder. Thorin grinned and clapped him on the back, but all he got in return was a glare and a grumble. Despite all this, the king seemed in high spirits. Finally Dwalin appeared at the door, and Bilbo realized that this was the first time he had seen everyone from their journey together in one place again since they had returned. Thorin turned to address everyone.

"Any last minute worries or second thoughts? Speak now if you wish," he said. Five sets of eyes looked at him (Dis ignoring him in favor of her pacing and grumbling), but after a few moments of silence he nodded. "You are my dearest friends, and closest companions, and I thank you in advance for the service I ask of you. I wouldn't be alive today without you. The service you do me is service to Erebor, and I honor you for it. We go to take the roles that we were destined to take, but before we do, I wish to say that even if I died at this moment, I could have no better group of friends and companions than you. The boons I give you today are more for me than for you, but know this: if ever you need anything, come to me and you shall not leave empty handed." Bilbo was struck as always by Thorin's sheer charisma. He would feel a fool delivering a speech like that, but Thorin made you believe it. Because he himself believed it, he seemed to bend the world around himself to where everyone else believed it too. Standing in front of them in his robes of state, smiling, the king looked so handsome that the hobbit's heart ached to see it. Finally, Thorin nodded once more. "To battle, then." As one, they grouped up and headed out, Balin struggling along with a large stack of parchments in his arms.

As the group passed through the carved arch of the Council chamber, Bilbo was shocked by the height of the ceiling in this one room, hanging with the omnipresent lamps on golden chains. Along one wall, banners were arrayed above a huge throne, set on a dais of three steps. In front of the throne was a table that looked to have been carved from a single block of crystal, veins of gold and milky inclusions worming their way through the crystalline surface. Smaller chairs of stone lined the table, seven on one side, two on the other, and a smaller table and low chair were set to the side of the throne. Bilbo saw a fat dwarf with a huge brown beard sitting in the small chair, and he recognized Grar from the elaborate braids, dressed today in finery almost equal to that of Thorin. The walls without banners were carved with deep bas reliefs of dwarven history. From Bilbo's conversations with Balin, he recognized the first panel as Durin awakening in Gundabad and seeing the stars in Mirrormere, but from there his guesses were unsure. The floor was the same polished dark green stone as the rest of the mountain, though bands of runes were inlaid in gold and bronze and crisscrossed the room in swirling patterns. Seven dwarves Bilbo had never seen were already in the chamber, each standing beside one of the chairs along the far side of the table, and they all looked up and bowed as Thorin came striding into the room. Without pausing, he ascended the steps to the throne, placed the Axe to one side and sat, robes swirling around him, and gestured for the others to take their seats. Dis took up a position standing at his shoulder. The rustle of the councilors being seated doing so did nothing to mask the crawling sensation Bilbo got from every set of eyes at the table being fastened onto his face and courting braid, and the scowls that blossomed on each face when they saw the mithril bead. Thorin's own scowl did nothing to lessen Bilbo's anxiety, and he felt like his shoulders were up around his ears by the time the king cleared his throat.

"I Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, of the Line of Durin, greet the High Council and Chamberlain on this, the first occasion of taking my seat upon the throne of Durin. As my first act, I reward the companions who made it possible for me to venture so far and return with the Axe of Dain, the glory of our people, and the Dragon Crown of Tumunzahar." Although some of the dwarves looked as though they had eaten bitter fruit, shuffling their stacked parchments with pursed lips, there were no objections made. Thorin smiled grimly. "Ori son of Bari, come forward." Ori stepped up and bowed to Thorin, then after a moment bowed again to an old dwarf with a scholar's sash sitting at the council table. The dwarf had wispy, thinning hair and a beard almost to the floor and Bilbo suspected that this must be Loremaster Imalek. "Ori, you were a steadfast companion, and your wisdom and courage served us all well in our travels. For your service, I grant you a boon. Save only my life and my throne, ask what you will and it shall be yours."

Ori's voice was clear and strong as he replied. "This is the boon I ask, that I take the seat of Chamberlain and serve you as Scribe." Bilbo was a bit shocked; he knew that these positions were appointed, but to do it through a boon was very odd indeed, at least by the standards of the courts of Numenor. Thorin grinned fiercely.

"This boon I grant with joy, and welcome you to the service of King and Council. Grar, you are no longer needed to serve the court as Chamberlain." Thorin's face was red with fury, but his voice stayed calm. He seemed to be picking his words with care. "Erebor thanks you for your service under King Thrain. Many things were made possible by your service which would have otherwise proved impossible. Because of this, we have further service to request of you. Do not leave the Council chambers just yet." Grar sketched a bow, but his face was grim. Bilbo could still see the combed-out spot where the remnants of the burned patch in his beard was still visible. He heaved himself out of the chair, and Ori took his seat with a cool nod and took up the pen. Thorin took a deep breath. "Before we move on, I would offer Grar a formal apology." The room stopped; you could have heard a pin drop in the silence. Dis' eyes cut to Bilbo and he caught her glance, but he wasn't going to react - he was simply shocked, and was sure his face reflected it. "I confronted him before my father's room, and in my grief I said harsh words which I... regret. Grar, I ask your forgiveness for my rash actions." As the king spoke, Grar's whole bearing transformed. Suddenly he was smiling, and the hobbit saw that it was not a nice smile at all.

Grar bowed to the throne. "Certainly I understand, King Thorin. Grief makes fools of us all. Think no more on it." Thorin's teeth were clearly gritting, but he nodded once and moved on. Grar walked over to stand by the wall, still smiling. The granting of boons went on, a role being filled with each recitation of the timeworn formula. Balin took the seat of Minister, vacant since the death of Minister Urnun several months prior during the king's debility, Dwalin took over as the head of Thorin's personal guard, and finally Nar was given the role of Stonekeeper for the King. All the councilors kept eyeing Bilbo as the list went on, but nobody seemed to have any objection to the appointments. The hobbit didn't get any sense that there were any surprises in the naming of the new office holders, in fact they were all likely expected. Ori made notations on his parchment as the appointments were made, keeping a list of what was done, and by the time everyone else had gone Bilbo was beginning to be a bit bored with all the pomp and formality. That came to an end when his name was mentioned. As Nar took his seat next to Balin in the last empty chair at the table, Thorin raised his hand.

"I must call one companion more, the one most dear to me, Bilbo Baggins, son of Bungo Baggins, of the Shire." Grar looked like he wanted to speak, and all the councilors were suddenly alert and poised, but Thorin continued. "Before I do so, though, I have one minor matter which requires attention. Lady Vur, who among your staff is the most honest and clever with investigation of exports and trading goods?" Everyone at the table blinked in confusion at the abrupt change of topic, but an old dwarrowdam almost hidden in parchments at the end of the table looked at Thorin cautiously.

"Are you seeking someone for a review of accounts?" She said in a creaky voice. Thorin nodded, and she thought for a moment. "Irek son of Bomrek would likely be best, but I have several others I could name. May I ask why?"

"Excellent." Thorin said, smiling at her. "The elf-king was complaining bitterly about the quality of trade goods, and what he showed me seemed poor indeed. The probity of your staff is a watchword, Lady Vur, and I would have him investigate and see if Thranduil is being truthful in his claims. Please see Irek sent along with Captain Elperas when he returns to the court of Thranduil." She hesitated for a moment but finally nodded, making a note on a parchment in front of her. "Grar," the king continued, turning to where the fat dwarf was still standing against the wall of the chamber, "while we hesitate to ask any more of you than the service you have already given, Irek will need advice on the lore on his trip, I'm sure, as well as records kept. As a further service to Erebor, we ask that you accompany him. Your knowledge of quality goods will undoubtedly prove useful as well in assaying; I would hate for the elf to rob us. You are of course welcome to take an assistant if you wish." There was a rustle among the councilors as the king gave him a mirthless smile. Grar's face went a pale grey and he stepped forward, but before he could say anything Thorin continued. "Bilbo Baggins, step forward." The councilors who had seemed about to speak stopped and focused on the hobbit again, all thoughts of Grar clearly forgotten. Bilbo saw the look that crossed the fat dwarf's face, though, and he knew that this would never be forgiven. He hoped Thorin knew what he was doing. He could see Grar slipping out of the chamber as he stepped forward, but couldn't pay attention to that right now. Bilbo was feeling a bit cross. Why, he wondered in exasperation, was Thorin constantly putting him on the spot like this? Once he had taken a few steps forward, Thorin began speaking.

"The story of my travels is a long one, and I will spare the Council the tedious details. The key points are these: I departed with the companions you know from Erebor. We passed through the Misty Mountains and went to the Blue Mountains, seeking news of the Dragon Crown of Tumunzahar, the crown I wear upon my brow. We found nothing useful beyond speculation. When returning, we heard word of a hobbit, Master Baggins who you see before you, with the Deep Sight." A rumble of interest went through the councilors, and for the first time Bilbo felt the attention shift from disapproving to interested, if only for a moment. He stood still and attempted to look patient, something which was taking more effort by the moment. "He demonstrated it on several occasions, along with stone sense which Nar tested and confirmed, the only non-dwarf in our records to be identified with either ability." Stonekeeper Fror eyed Bilbo narrowly, but Nar nodded calmly from his seat next to Balin. "Master Baggins first showed his ability to us when he located a magical sword under a pile of bones in a troll cave. When we entered the mountain passes, it was he who brought the _Baruk Dainul_ to me from a small cave, having sensed its magic from a distance with the Deep Sight." Ori cleared his throat, and Thorin gestured for him to speak.

"For those wondering how the _Baruk Dainul_ came to be in such a place, Master Baggins discovered it with the bones of a dwarf who we believe to be Frarin, eldest son of Durin IV, who vanished during a blizzard in the ninety-fifth year of his father's reign. Due to a poorly thought-out wager, he left Khazad-Dum and took the Axe in an attempt to hunt a stone giant and is suspected to have met his end in so doing. He had presumably taken shelter in the cave, which had been blocked prior to the time of our discovery by a significant rockfall. Frarin was married at the time of his disappearance and had a son Varin, who died unmarried and childless in the two hundredth year of the reign of his uncle Glain III. So ended the line of Frarin, which ends also any claims of prior ownership for the Axe. Master Baggins thus restored it, correctly, to the current Heir of Durin as its rightful possessor. Such was the result of my research." Ori sat down as the councilors whispered among themselves. Thorin let this go on for a bit, then resumed his narrative.

"We passed into the ruins of Sarkhubuland and retrieved the crown. While there, the crown and axe permitted me to fight an unknown shadow creature which made its home there and drive it off. We returned by way of Thranduil's halls to Erebor with both artifacts. While there, the sword we found in the troll cave was gifted to King Thranduil as a token of peace between our peoples at Master Baggins' behest." Thorin took a deep breath and looked down briefly. "But there is more. When I saw Master Baggins for the first time, I knew him as my One. Those of you who have had this experience know what I mean, those who have not, do not and cannot. I asked Master Baggins for permission to court, and it was granted. We have exchanged two gifts, and shall exchange our third presently and be wed. I would ask..." Thorin's next words were drowned out in the clamor of seven dwarves shouting at once. Bilbo heard that Ori was trying to make some point about Narvi, but it was lost in the clamor. The whole room was echoing with furious argument when Thorin stood, picked up the Axe of Dain and slammed it on the quartz table with a resounding clang. Silence fell for a moment as everyone jumped. Thorin opened his mouth to speak, but Loremaster Imalek leaped to his feet and shook a finger at the king where he stood.

"Madness!" The old dwarf shouted, wispy hair flying. "No king in the history of our people has ever wed a non-dwarf! And before you cite precedent, Narvi was no king and had no obligation to anything but his craft. The king must marry one who is fit to be consort, as shown clearly in the story of Rarn II and Rukni, and no dwarf would obey one of those... whatever he is! This foolishness has..." Nods and sounds of agreement were heard from the other councilors, except for one truly ancient dwarf in armor who was still peering at Thorin in apparent confusion.

"Silence!" thundered Thorin, eyes blazing. "You are my Council, and I honor you for the service you perform, but I will not hear opposition on this. The people of Erebor will come to love him as I have. He brought us the Axe of Dain; he brought us the Dragon Crown. He gave his own courting gift to the elves for peace and friendship." Another murmur started, but Thorin's voice cut across it. "It is every dwarf's right to be with his One, and so it has been since the days of Durin. I have spoken." Dis put her face in her hands. Bilbo could tell from the glares and stubborn looks that Thorin had convinced precisely no-one with his outburst. Balin cleared his throat at this point, and spoke in his best diplomatic tones.

"As it happens, we anticipated that there might be some concerns on this matter. I have prepared an examination of various precedents which the Council might find interesting, if I could bring to your attention this first item..." As the old dwarf began handing out stacks of parchment, the debate raged on. Questions were asked about the courting gifts, the elves, and some questions were asked about Bilbo's family and even his body that he considered very impertinent indeed. After almost an hour, Bilbo gave up and sat on the steps of the dais, but nobody other than Dis seemed to notice. Thorin shouted, the councilors shouted, and the only break in the tension came when the ancient dwarf started asking a rambling series of questions that made it clear that she thought Thorin was his grandfather Thror and couldn't understand what had happened to the wife he already had. The hobbit didn't know what to think about any of it other than wishing everyone would stop shouting, but he noticed Ori looking increasingly disheartened as he wrote minutes of the meeting. After the midday bell rang, Balin suggested that the Council adjourn for the day to consider the precedents in the document and meet back the next day to discuss potential solutions to their concerns. Thorin stomped furiously from the room almost before Balin finished speaking, followed by a flustered looking Dis. Bilbo scurried along behind them as they went back to the Royal Quarter, with occasional words like 'hidebound', 'stupid' and 'wretched' floating back from Thorin's apparent tirade, Dis taking every opportunity to respond in a quiet voice that sounded furious though Bilbo (thankfully) couldn't hear what she was saying. He was delighted when he was able to slip away from the group and headed into his quarters for some peace and quiet, leaving Thorin and Dis to the joy of their latest argument.

By the time he got inside the room and closed his door, the hobbit was overcome by a wave of tiredness so deep it felt almost physically painful. He thought briefly about going to bed, but he knew that someone - probably Dis - would burst in soon enough with some new chaos in tow, and he didn't want to be unprepared. Perhaps if he just sat by the fire, he thought, this feeling of sheer bloodless exhaustion might pass. He was asleep before his back touched the chair.

Bilbo wakened to knocking. For a moment he was confused, looking around, before remembering that he was in his rooms in Erebor. A moment's reflection told him that it wasn't Dis or Thorin; they would have simply come in by now. He got up and, still drunk with sleep, staggered to the door. When he opened it, a dwarf he didn't know was standing there dressed in the simple clothes of the servants. "Master Baggins, I have been sent by the king," the dwarf said in a low tone full of urgency. "Your rooms are no longer safe. Others will come and move your things, but you are to be taken to the Consort's Chambers, near King Thorin's rooms immediately. Come with me, and the others will bring your effects shortly." Shaking his head, Bilbo was seized by worry; was this because of the Council meeting? He looked closely at the dwarf, whose black hair was drawn back in a severe plait and whose dark beard was braided into complicated patterns he hadn't seen before. The servant's clothes were clean and neat, freshly washed and pressed.

"Give me a moment," Bilbo said muzzily. "I need..."

"There is no time, the king is very insistent. My apologies, but you must come now." The servant was practically vibrating with urgency.

"Very well," Bilbo said, wishing he had at least been able to fetch his elven dagger, if there was some danger. The books from Ori were sitting by the door, and he snatched them up; if nothing else made it to his new quarters, at least he could read, he thought. "Did they send no guards?" The servant shook his head and signaled for silence, looking out the door and motioning for the hobbit to follow. They left the guest quarters and turned towards the royal chambers. Bilbo knew where Thorin's rooms were, but had never been inside them of course... Balin and Dis would have simultaneously died of apoplexy at the thought. As they rounded a corner, the servant opened a low door into the hidden passages used to reach the kitchens and other service areas.

"This is a faster way, and a safer one," he said, motioning to the passage revealed. Bilbo paused for a moment. He realized that he had never seen a servant with such elaborate braids before, and he wasn't sure why that was important, but now that he was awake it rankled at him. The servant looked bothered at his hesitation. "We must go quickly," he repeated, but at this moment Bilbo became aware of two things which were of immediate concern; first, that he had never heard a servant offer an opinion about anything before, and second, that this dwarf was acting more like a soldier than someone who cleaned rooms for a living. He backed up, and the dwarf looked at him with sudden disdain. "Damn," was all the hobbit heard before the 'servant' had drawn a long knife. He attempted to stab the hobbit, but the knife thrust was blocked by the books Bilbo still had in his arms. Shouting for help, Bilbo dropped the books, turned, and fled. Heavy steps pounded behind him, but the assassin (for so Bilbo realized belatedly he must be) wasn't expecting hobbits to be quite so fast.

As he ran through the halls, Bilbo thought he was headed towards Thorin's rooms, but he wasn't quite sure. The steps were close behind him now, and the huffing breath of the dwarf seemed to be drawing closer, along with his occasional curses and insults in Khuzdul. He shouted again, but had given up on anyone hearing him in this maze of seemingly abandoned halls. Not for the first time since leaving the Shire, Bilbo wished he had spent more time running when he was young, since it seemed to be his fate to be cursed to run through dwarven halls. He rounded another corner and startled when he saw Dwalin running towards him with a look of surprise. At his flinch, the dwarf behind him caught up and he felt a sharp pain in his shoulder as he heard the dwarf say "Oh," in a soft voice. Something warm and wet covered him as he slipped into darkness.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bilbo wakes up in bed, we find out what happened, needs a bath, and finally decides he's tired of waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so we finally got to (some) smut. Hope it's up to everyone's standards. Porn is hard to write. :)

Bilbo felt odd. It was the best word he had to describe the sensation. He was warm, certainly, and that was pleasant; nevertheless, there was something that seemed to be holding him down. He worried for a moment how long he had been asleep, since he remembered coming back from the Council meeting and falling into the chair in a stupor, but as strange as he felt, he hoped he hadn't spent all night sitting there. When he opened his eyes, they seemed to be gummy and stuck shut, but finally he got them open, only to see that what was holding him down was a heavy quilt in an unfamiliar bed. Thorin sat beside him in a chair, and he wasn't looking at him directly but his face was a mask of rage and grief. "Th... Thorin?" he ventured weakly, and blue eyes snapped to his face.

"_Azyungel_," Thorin half-whispered, "Praise Mahal! How do you feel?"

"I..." Bilbo paused. Memories rushed back suddenly, of the false servant, the flight through the halls, the dwarf behind him with a knife, the stab in his shoulder. A sharp pain pulsed through his back at the memory. "My shoulder hurts." He finally said. Taking stock of the rest of his body, he felt tired but nothing else hurt specifically, he just felt completely drained and somehow scoured clean. "Thirsty." Thorin leaned over with a cup, and Bilbo sipped the water within. It tasted like nectar to his dry mouth, and he had drained the whole cup before he realized it. As he swallowed, he also noticed that his throat was quite sore. "Thank you," he finally muttered. "My throat hurts. What happened?"

Thorin's eyes were like lightning. "Someone sent that filth after you disguised as a servant." His hands tensed around the cup until Bilbo was surprised it didn't shatter in the dwarf's grip. "If not for Dwalin..."

"It was my own fault." Bilbo said weakly. "I was asleep, but he... I knew better than to leave with him. I should have. I wasn't thinking." Thorin gripped his hand where it lay on the coverlet.

"No, never your fault, my heart. I am so ashamed that you were in danger in my own kingdom, I should shave my hair and beard! You were in danger and I was... I was nowhere near..." Thorin's face crumpled and Bilbo wished he could reach up and comfort his beloved, but he felt so tired! He didn't know if his hands would even respond, so he just squeezed the hand in his own.

"We can talk about that later, my love. Am I... how badly am I hurt?" Thorin scowled, but Bilbo recognized the worried look for what it was.

"Not badly, at least the cut was not deep. There was..." The dwarf took a deep breath and grimaced, "there was poison on the blade, but it seems to behave differently for hobbits than for dwarves. We think you should be fine, though you were quite sick for a while." Thorin wouldn't meet his eyes, and Bilbo wondered what was going unsaid. Well, he supposed he would find out soon enough. If past experience had been any indication, it would probably be shouted in his ear at top volume, now that he thought about it. In spite of himself he grinned, and the king looked at him oddly. "I should let Oin know you are awake. I will be right back." Bilbo nodded and Thorin stepped away. The sounds of muffled conversation reached him from outside the door, and an old dwarf with a long mustache and elaborately braided beard came in carrying (of all things) an ear trumpet.

"Well, lad," he boomed, causing Bilbo's head to ring, "A mite tougher than you look, aren't ye? You got dosed with enough purple hornflower to kill three strong dwarves, but here ye are!" Ah, he thought fuzzily, that must be what had Thorin looking like I came back from the dead. In dwarven terms, it seems I did. "Let's have a look!" Gentle fingers turned back the covers and opened the bandages Bilbo didn't realize he had on. Suddenly he realized his shirt was gone, though he was covered in what looked like dried blood. What on earth? When had they...? But Oin was talking again, this time to Thorin. "Wound looks clear, much less inflamed than I'd have thought. He's fought it off, sure enough. Never seen the like. Should heal clean enough as long as it doesn't get infected, but the lad'll have a scar to brag about." Standing, the old dwarf grinned down at him. "Stay abed until you feel like rising, though now you're awake a trip to the chamber pot won't hurt ye. Broth today, but if it stays down, simple food tomorrow and after that eat as you please. If your stomach sits ill with something, it will let you know, no fear of that!" He clapped Thorin on the shoulder, then caught himself visibly and bowed, eyes twinkling, as Thorin punched him in the arm and grinned with relief.

"Oin, I'm in your debt," the king said. "I'll send word if things change here. You've... thank you." he finished, cutting himself off. Oin nodded and departed, leaving the door open.

"Thorin," Bilbo said quietly, "where am I?" He felt so sleepy again, but didn't really want to go back to sleep yet though he wasn't sure he was going to get much choice in the matter.

"My rooms," came the reply, and Bilbo smiled to himself even as his body decided it was time to rest again. He supposed this was one way to see inside Thorin's rooms without a scandal, but he wasn't sure he could recommend it. Bilbo fought to stay awake long enough to drink some broth, but it was a close thing. His last thought was to wonder with great amusement how scandalized Balin was that Bilbo was in Thorin's bed.

When he next awoke, Bilbo saw Thorin asleep in the chair beside him. Taking stock of his body, he felt more rested and less drained, though his shoulder itched and burned more than it had before, which usually indicated that a wound was healing, a good sign. Despite the irritating sensation from the wound, he felt a surge of warmth when looking at his handsome dwarf and realized just how much he had changed from the fussy little hobbit that left Bag End on a wizard's advice. At the very least, a year ago he would never have been able to admit the attraction that now burned in him whenever he saw Thorin. Maybe there was something to this business of Ones and shared souls after all, he was forced to admit; if nothing else, it was a convenient excuse for how easily he had made the transition from 'never think about such things' to 'I want this dwarf with every fiber of my being'. What a strange journey he had had! The idea of being married to another male was strange, in an academic way, and the notion of doing intimate things with another man was confusing (though increasingly titillating, especially after seeing Thorin naked when they bathed together!) Despite it all, Bilbo was willing to admit to himself that even with all the drama and shouting the dwarves seemed to relish in their daily lives, he had never been happier. At that moment his shoulder gave a particularly painful twinge, and he amended his last thought with a stipulation that he was happier except for when personally attacked and wounded. He was thirsty again, but decided to let Thorin sleep. He crawled gingerly out of bed and managed to use the chamber pot, though the effort left him feeling tired and drained and he was glad to get back under the warm covers. One thing that surprised him when he could see himself properly was the amount of dried blood on his body. What on earth had happened? Hoping that the blood wasn't all from him and resolving to bathe as soon as possible, he got comfortable again in the bed. Settling back against the down pillows, he wiggled his shoulder a bit until the itching subsided at the cost of sharp twinges of pain as it pulled the wound, then lay and allowed himself to drift for a bit until he sensed movement from the chair.

Thorin jerked awake with a gasp. Bilbo looked over at him and smiled when he met his beloved's blue eyes. "Hello." Thorin rubbed his eyes and smiled and Bilbo couldn't help but grin fondly at the sight. "I would say good morning, but I have no idea what time it is. I never do. Are dwarves allergic to windows?" A soft chuckle was the response.

"_Azyungel_, we are deep in the mountain. A window would be impractical." The king looked down for a moment. "It's the middle of the night, more or less. First quarter bell hasn't rung." The hobbit was stunned. How long had he been asleep? The lack of windows was a constant annoyance. Another thing to consider for their life together, because if he had to go without sunlight for too long, he would surely go mad.

"Ah," was all that the hobbit said. Windows were a fight for another day. Thorin's eyes were concerned as he looked Bilbo over.

"How do you feel?"

"Much better, actually, my shoulder feels like it's healing. Though I also feel disgustingly filthy. Do you think I could take a bath?" He sniffed at himself and thought he smelled as bad as he had when they were on the road. "How long was I asleep, anyway? And why am I so bloody? Did I really bleed this much?" Thorin looked a bit shifty-eyed, which increased Bilbo's concern. "Thorin?"

"You were asleep for... a while. You were very ill."

"Thorin. How long? How many days has it been since our Council meeting?" Bilbo was beginning to feel worried because Thorin still wouldn't meet his eyes. The dwarf sighed.

"That was... six days ago. You were unconscious for five days, and the first day you were vomiting... quite a lot. The poison made you very ill, but thank Mahal that hobbit bodies are different; no dwarf would have survived even a scratch from that blade. As for the blood... some of it is yours, but Dwalin was very upset to see you threatened and, well, he beheaded the dwarf behind you. Rather impressively. So a great deal of it belongs to your attacker. Belonged, anyway." Thorin's eyes flashed dangerously. "I wanted to save his head and gift it to you, but Dis insisted you wouldn't want it."

"I..." Bilbo felt vaguely queasy, though the idea that Dwalin thought well enough of him to behead someone to save him was comforting in a horrifying sort of way. "No, I don't think I should like that very much at all, really." Despite the lurch his stomach gave at the idea of a dwarf head as a gift, the hobbit was forced to be aware that he was extremely hungry. "Six days? If you could help me bathe, maybe I could eat something?" Thorin flushed and jumped up.

"Yes, food, I... right. Let's... uh..." Ah, right, Bilbo thought, once again I've forgotten dwarvish propriety. Irritation washed through him. Propriety be damned, Bilbo decided, I'm going to bathe.

"If you don't feel it would be appropriate to help me wash, I understand. Ring for a servant, I'm sure they would be glad to help," the hobbit said and almost cringed at the bitter tone in his voice. The king straightened his back immediately. At the mention of someone else helping, Thorin's jaw set at a harsh angle.

"Nonsense, wait just a moment." He watched as the king went and rang for a servant and sent orders for food, then returned. "Now let's get you to the bath." Bilbo tried with indifferent success to hide his smile, but climbed out of bed under his own power and tottered off in the direction Thorin indicated. He would normally be irritated with the dwarf hovering beside him as he moved but he really was feeling a bit unsteady and it was a comfort under the circumstances. The hobbit was pleased to notice that this time when he got up, he didn't feel the same dizziness as he had before, though he did hope the servants would come soon with the broth or whatever they were bringing. When they got into the bath chamber, Bilbo was speechless. He thought the guestroom had an elaborate bath, but this was ridiculous. The tub was carved into the stone and it was twice as large as the one in the guest room, and at its deepest point would be over the hobbit's head. Precious and semiprecious stones were laid in a mosaic around the rim, though all were polished flush with the edge. All the fixtures were golden, the knobs made of precious stones, a fountain in the center made in the image of the mountain... the room was lovely, Bilbo thought, but utterly impractical.

The hobbit had a seat on a stool set nearby and watched as Thorin bent over to fiddle with the levers to run the bath, and a wave of interest rose up in him despite his weakened state. The usual internal voice claiming he was shameless and disgusting arose, but he was getting good at ignoring it by now. It never had anything interesting to say anyway. When the bath was full, Bilbo hauled himself up and unbuttoned his trousers. Thorin was watching him but the look on his face was hardly appropriate for a nurse or assistant. "I should..." the baritone voice sounded choked, "Perhaps I will just wait... uh...."

Bilbo felt a rush of determination and lust go through him. To hell with propriety, he decided, and to hell with the rules, just this once. He leaned a little more heavily on the tub than he strictly needed to and said "Don't go. I'd hate to fall." He gave Thorin a half-smile that caused the dwarf's eyes to go dark with interest. "Perhaps you should come in with me to... hold me up. I may need support." He hitched his thumbs into his smallclothes and slowly pushed them down. The king was captivated, mouth hanging slightly open and breath rasping a bit. Bilbo stepped into the tub and made his way gingerly down the risers into the gently steaming water. Thorin had put something scented in it so that it smelled of sandalwood, and the heady smell was seductive in its own right. He was so focused on the effect seeing his naked body was having on his intended, he stumbled and almost fell on the slick stone, pulling the wound in his shoulder and making him hiss with discomfort. In a flash, Thorin was standing in the bath (in his boots, Bilbo thought in amazement) and propping the hobbit up, keeping him from falling over headfirst into the deep water. They both laughed for a moment at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation before Bilbo turned and pressed himself along Thorin's body. "Thorin, I have something to confess," he said in a low voice.

"Tha... What... uh, what is it?" said a very distracted dwarf indeed. The hobbit reached up and feathered his fingers through the long, dark hair on Thorin's shoulders, ignoring the shocked hiss of breath that resulted.

"I spent almost forty years of my life worrying about what people would think about me. I knew I liked looking at other men, but I didn't think about what that meant." Bilbo slid his fingers through Thorin's tunic buttons, undoing them one by one. A soft keening noise came from the king's throat. "I didn't just avoid it, I fled from it. It scared me. And I made every effort," _pop-pop_ went the last few buttons, and Bilbo slipped his fingers inside to slide across the snowy linen of the shirt, tracing the humps and ridges of muscle under it. "_Every_ effort, Thorin, to be as respectable as I could, as constrained as possible, to be seen visibly conforming to every single social rule." He pulled Thorin's tunic off and threw it on the floor much more rudely than such lovely embroidered fabric deserved, then started lifting the edge of the king's shirt. The dwarf was standing there looking at him with a dumbfounded expression, but the very noticeable tent in his trousers said this wasn't the least bit unwelcome. "And I hated it. Of course I see now that I was miserable. Trapped in my own little world, obsessed with what other people thought about me. You got me out of that. You, Thorin. You saved me." He unhooked the golden buttons on the trousers, brushing his fingers delicately along the line of hairy belly just above them and eliciting a deep groan. "I didn't know that I was waiting for someone to rescue me from the prison I had built for myself. I didn't even really know that I was trapped. But I _was_ waiting, my love. I've been waiting. I don't know what two men can do together, but I've been waiting to find out, ever since I saw you in that bath in the forest. And right now... I'm so tired of waiting." He looked up into his beloved's face, letting his emotions show as clearly as he could, love and lust and so very much wanting. "So take those bloody boots off and teach me."

With a growl, Thorin sat and ripped off his boots and trousers, flinging them in a pile by the tub. Clearly Bilbo had pushed him past the point of second thoughts, which was just as well because if the hobbit was being honest with himself, he was starting to have second thoughts himself and he wanted them kept far away. He ran his eyes over the broad, hairy chest and couldn't resist reaching out and sliding his hands down the muscular shoulders and arms. Thorin stood up and took Bilbo in his arms and the feel of the large, hard maleness pressing against the hobbit's belly made him almost weak with lust. The luscious brush of crisp, dark hair pressing against the skin of his chest felt like a revelation. Oh, he thought suddenly. Oh. This is what I've been missing all along. Who knew? He leaned in and nibbled at Thorin's lips, and his dwarf made a sighing sound that went through Bilbo like a shock, bending forward and claiming his mouth. The scratch of dark beard felt more powerful than ever as they pressed their naked bodies together, finally able to slide their hands over each other's skin. After a moment, Thorin stepped back and took a washcloth in hand, scrubbing the dried blood from Bilbo and kissing each bit of newly-revealed flesh as it was cleaned of gore. His lips made their way along with the washcloth slowly down his body, from his ears down to his feet, leaving the hobbit feel as though he were dreaming. As he lifted each of Bilbo's feet and scrubbed gently between his toes, brushing his fingers through the fur on top of them, Bilbo wondered if it were possible to pass out from sheer erotic joy. Thorin stood and kissed him again, tongue probing between his lips and holding him upright when Bilbo's legs would have betrayed him. "_Azyungel, ghivashel, kidhuzural_..." Thorin pulled his mouth away and looked down at Bilbo, blue eyes gone completely black. "I have wanted this so long, but we shouldn't..."

"Shouldn't. Of course we shouldn't. We don't have to," Bilbo fought down the urge to scream and also the urge to cry, but tears slid down his cheeks in spite of it. "I just... I'm so tired, and someone tried to kill me, and I don't... I don't... I almost died and don't even know what..." The hobbit didn't even know what he was saying at this point, but Thorin leaned down and kissed him again, hard, wrapping him in his muscular arms until the bandages pulled on his wounded shoulder.

"Don't weep, please don't weep, my heart. There are things that should wait. You're hurt, and I don't want to strain you," Thorin said, running his thumbs along Bilbo's cheeks and wiping away tears. "But I'm sure we can find something to do." He sat the hobbit down on the edge of the tub and stood two steps down, making them roughly the same height. Bilbo wasn't sure what to think at first as Thorin began to lick along the length of his pointed ears, and the feeling went straight to his erect and straining member. As the dwarf's mouth made its way down his neck, sliding along his jawline, Bilbo realized that without meaning to he was gasping for air. His hands slid along Thorin's chest, teasing the coarse hair there that felt so similar and yet so different to the fur on hobbit feet. His fingers found the tiny, hard nubs of nipples buried in the dense black pelt, and as he slid his fingers over them a broken groan echoed from Thorin's throat. Aha, he thought, rubbing them more firmly and relishing the sounds that resulted. Thorin rutted against him, pressing his massive length into the hobbit's side with a gasp. Bilbo moved up and pressed his nose into Thorin's hair, the smell of his dwarf surrounding him in comfort. He leaned into it, sliding his nose behind Thorin's ear and sucked on the lobe experimentally, then sliding his tongue up the side and enjoying the noisy reaction. Interesting, he thought smugly, so I'm not the only one with sensitive ears. Good to know. I wonder... he leaned forward and slid his lips over the nipples his hands had just explored, nibbling on them with his teeth and Thorin gasped and tensed. "Are you sure you've never done this before?" Thorin rumbled with a wicked smile, and Bilbo looked up, pleased.

"Quite sure," he said in a very prim voice, but grinned in spite of himself. "Why, am I doing it right?" A growl was the only response as Thorin kissed his way down the hobbit's chest and then knelt on the stone step in front of Bilbo. For a moment the hobbit wondered what he was doing before the warmth of his lips and tongue trailed up his length and all thought left his mind beyond raw need. "Oh!" he exclaimed, shocked that anything could feel so good. Thorin chuckled and Bilbo could feel the deep rumble through his whole body, then a long tongue slid up his organ and back down again, swirling around his bollocks and returning. He was vaguely aware of dwarven hands sliding along his legs and thighs, bracing him up on the side of the tub, but all of his attention was centered on the warm, wet sensation of Thorin's mouth sliding along and around his cock. He looked down to see his length sliding between his dwarf's lips and almost broke on the spot. At that moment Bilbo wanted this feeling to last forever, but he also realized that the end was clearly in sight. "Thorin, I..." he was distracted again by the unbelievable sensations, the debauched sight taking place between his splayed legs, but he finally took handfuls of that lovely hair and pushed back. Thorin came off him with a shocking noise, then looked up with a face full of confusion, lips shining red and wet. "I'm... it's about to get... messy," Bilbo said, feeling himself blushing furiously. He must know, the hobbit thought, but embarrassment still surged in him.

His shock was complete when Thorin laughed aloud and simply said "Good," and went back to what he was doing before. He couldn't go anywhere, strong hands holding him in position as Thorin's head bobbed up and down urgently. He couldn't mean... surely he didn't... soon enough the decision was taken out of Bilbo's hands. The tension that had been building in the base of his spine released, shattering him completely, and Thorin stayed where he was, humming and moaning around Bilbo's waning erection until the vibrations were too much to take and Bilbo was gasping and wriggling, trying to escape the excessive sensation. When the hobbit looked down again, it was to see a thoroughly pleased-looking dwarven lover smiling and licking his lips clean, sending a scandalized feeling through him for a split second before the realization hit that he had no idea such things were even possible. How, he wondered, have I possibly been missing out on this?

"Get up here," the hobbit muttered, tugging on Thorin's arm and meeting his grin with a matching one. The dwarf stood and then sat on the edge of the tub next to Bilbo, lazily taking himself in hand. After watching him lazily stroke thick fingers a few times along that length, Bilbo reached out and grasped his wrist to stop him.

"_Azyungel_, what..." Thorin began, but Bilbo leaned over and decided to see if he had learned anything from the recent activities. The sight of his head lowering made the king say "No, you don't have to... _ah_!" When the hobbit's tongue met hardened flesh, he was surprised that there wasn't more taste. He swirled his tongue like he thought Thorin had done, and the noises his lover made seemed to indicate that he was doing it properly. The scent of Thorin was intoxicating, the familiar smell of him mixed with the scent of sandalwood from the water, and underneath was a raw, musky, gamy smell that went through Bilbo like a bolt of lightning. He moved his mouth down to the heavy balls underneath, coarse hair crisp against his tongue, and a strong hand twined into his blond curls. He almost expected to be held in place, but it was oddly comforting to have Thorin's hand there, and there was no direction, no coercion, just a pressure and a comfort. He made his way in his own time back up to the (by hobbit standards) enormous member, licking along its length and wrapping his lips around the jutting head. Thorin's cries were constant, each out breath a gasp, and Bilbo could taste a slightly bitter, thoroughly addictive flavor there. He leaned in, took more inside his mouth, moved up and down, and when it hit the back of his mouth he could have cried from wanting more. Suddenly nothing mattered more than making Thorin feel what he had felt, but there was just too much. He wrapped his hands around it, slid them up and down and heard his dwarf make a noise that was almost a shout. Yes, he thought. That's the way, then. I like that sound. His shoulder was aching and burning now, but he was committed. After what seemed like only seconds but was surely longer, Thorin's strained voice said "I'm... _azyungel_, I'm so close... you don't have to..." but the hobbit thought, no more than you did, love. He continued his actions and almost immediately there were four, five, six spurts of seed in his mouth. He swallowed them as Thorin had, continuing until his head was gently pushed away to the keening of his dwarven lover. Looking up at Thorin's face, lust-blown and shattered, gasping for breath, a rush of pride went through Bilbo. I did that, he thought joyfully. I made him look like that. Sore jaw, sore shoulder and all, Bilbo would have been stabbed a dozen times if he had known this would be the reward.

"Take me back to bed?" he said softly, and without a word, Thorin helped him from the tub. Strong hands dried him with a cloth, making him feel like he was a fauntling again. Before he knew it Thorin was tucking him back in the bed and kissing him gently. His shoulder hurt like fire, but it was worth it, he thought sleepily, it was all completely worth it. After they each had a small meal of the food that was brought, he snuggled back into the thick pillows. "I love you," he murmured sleepily. "Can't wait until we are married." Thorin looked down at him with glowing eyes.

"I love you too, my heart, and that day cannot come soon enough for me. Even if this was considered wrong, it was worth it. Thank you, _azyungel_," he kissed Bilbo's forehead. "Sleep now."

"Thank you," the hobbit murmured. He didn't have words for all of it, but he could have talked for ages. The look on his lover's face told him that he understood what was meant, said and unsaid, so it was easy to slip off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ghivashel - Treasure of all treasures  
kidhuzural - golden one


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bilbo and Dis reach an understanding, a room is moved, a king is crowned, and Bilbo surprises an entire kingdom of dwarves.

When Bilbo awoke, he looked over to the chair with a smile, expecting to see Thorin. Instead, Dis sat there, staring at him soberly. Her clothes were high quality, but she wasn't wearing the court garb in which he had last seen her (a week ago, his mind supplied helpfully). A bit startled, he pulled the covers up around himself but managed to squeak out "Good morning." She smiled a polite smile that conveyed nothing.

"Good morning, Master Baggins. How are you faring after your attack?" The hobbit checked in with the various parts of his body. His shoulder felt stiff but wasn't actively hurting for the first time, and the rest of him felt deliciously relaxed after... no, he thought, as the flush spread up his chest just from thinking about Thorin and their midnight encounter. Definitely not thinking about that right now, certainly not with Dis in the room.

"I... quite well, thank you. I seem to be recovering, or so Oin said when he was here. My shoulder has been hurting a bit, but also itching, which is traditionally a positive sign." He glanced around the room curiously. "I must admit, I didn't expect to wake to you sitting here. No offense." She looked down at him and nodded quietly, a concerned expression on her face. Thick ringed fingers smoothed her beard. Good heavens, Bilbo thought, is she nervous? Whatever for?

"Yes, well... Thorin needed to be at a Council meeting. He's skipped two of them already since you were injured." A moment of exasperation showed in her voice, but she closed her eyes briefly and visibly composed herself. "Ori, Balin and Nar are with him, of course, and I felt it would be more productive to be here than attend today. Thorin needs to learn to handle the councilors himself..." She sighed. "But enough about that. May I get you anything? Some water, perhaps?"

"Thank you, you are too kind. If you would ring for some food, I'd be forever in your debt; I find myself quite hungry. Please don't think me rude if I ask you to excuse me for a moment; I fear I must get out of bed and attend to, well, the necessaries," he flushed a bit, "but do you know if some more clothes could be brought? I'd like to get dressed and see if I can have a bit of normality. I feel I've spent quite enough time lying around in this bed." She nodded, sharp eyes probing him for a moment, but withdrew to the other room. Bilbo flipped back the covers and set his feet down to the floor. He was pleased to note that he seemed stronger than he had been even the previous night. His legs were still shaky, but that was to be expected. At least his mind was clear. Once his bladder was relieved and he had gone and washed his face and hands, clean clothes had appeared as though by magic on the chair. The wound in his shoulder pulled uncomfortably a few times as he wrestled himself into his shirt and coat, but the pain was brief and didn't seem serious. More than anything, Bilbo was delighted to once again be dressed and away from the (admittedly very comfortable) bed. When he opened the door, Dis was sitting with a cup of tea in front of a tray of covered dishes on a small table. As soon as the door was opened a servant darted past him to begin changing the linens on the bed and freshening the room.

"Sit. Eat." She said brusquely, though with a smile to indicate that she knew how abrupt her words sounded. Cocking an eyebrow, she went on "And before we have another episode like our first meeting, I have already eaten. Please don't make a scene about it." The laugh that came out surprised Bilbo at its strength, but he was delighted to see the joking side of her. Maybe her concerns weren't about him at all. At least there's hope, he thought, as he bit into one of Bombur's magnificent sweet rolls. "Master Baggins," she said with a sigh, "I feel I owe you an apology. I am used to Thorin being... well, I suppose headstrong is a polite word for it. Our childhood together was mostly a long string of him finding new ways to get in trouble, and me having to find ways to get him out of it, or at least to minimize the effects, despite being the younger sibling. We are no longer children of fifty years of course, but old habits of thought linger." She sipped from her cup, eyes distant. "My brother has a tendency to throw himself into things headfirst, you may have noticed. Planning and calculation are foreign to him. He is a much better hero than politician. I beg of you, don't be cross with me; I'm not insulting him, it's just the truth." Bilbo continued to eat, wondering where she was going with all this. He had to admit, he couldn't argue with what she had said so far. "When he appeared with you, I assumed you were just another of his bad ideas. Your pardon, I know how it sounds when I say it like that, it's just..." She sighed. "I knew that Thorin would never use language like that about something he wasn't sure of, but... honestly, all I could think of were the dozens of times that he had done something just to shock or annoy people without thinking of the consequences." She smiled apologetically across the table. "Yet and still. As I said, I owe you an apology, and I offer it now. While I still can't claim to fully understand how a dwarf can have a hobbit as their One, I cannot deny that he acts with you like he never has with anyone else. It would seem that he loves you, and so I must love you as well. Please forgive me for not seeing it sooner." She extended her hand and the hobbit took it numbly, overwhelmed with an awareness of what this little speech had probably cost someone so prickly and headstrong.

"Lady Dis, I... I hardly know what to say." He stammered. "There's nothing to forgive, really. It never occurred to me that anything you did was done for any reason other than love of your brother, and," he pressed on despite his rising flush, "we are in full agreement in that, at least. I do love him, you know." She nodded, smiling broadly. The midday bell pealed in the distance.

"If it was supposed to be a secret that you were as mad for him as he is for you, then I'm afraid we need to work on your concealment skills," she chuckled. "It hasn't escaped my attention, no." Her smile fell away. "Master Baggins, I am deeply concerned about my brother. He won't listen to me, so I bring my concerns to you. Since I am forced to believe that you are his One, I have to support your union; having found a One deemed 'inappropriate' myself I know from personal experience how harrowing it can be to be blocked at every turn. I wouldn't wish that on anyone else. Nevertheless, the Council is furious. Many of them would have been content for father's illness to continue, and the prospect of an young, active, focused king holds little appeal. Even the few that like Thorin don't understand your bond, and Grar has spent years poisoning the minds of several of the most powerful among them against him, convincing them that Thorin was rash, unruly, and prone to do ridiculous things. My brother reappearing with a hobbit as a courting partner did nothing to alleviate those concerns."

"Well," Bilbo said carefully, "I understand. For my own part, I can tell you that falling in love with a dwarf at all, let alone a prince, was the farthest thing from my mind when I left my home. Believe me when I say that my own people would be at least as upset about the prospect of this union as the Council are. My fellow hobbits have many admirable qualities but as a people we are not known for our open-mindedness. The different are not welcomed in the Shire, any more than they seem to be popular here in Erebor." He grimaced and Dis patted his hand in what he assumed was to be a comforting manner, though her heavy rings rapped his knuckles.

"There is some good news, at least. Popular sympathy is with you since you were attacked in such a cowardly fashion, especially since Ori has been spreading the story far and wide of your discovery of the Axe and your retrieval of the Dragon Crown in the face of that horrible monster. Nar's support carries significant weight as well. To have two such notable supporters paints you (and by extension, Thorin) in a good light, though as you can imagine it also vexes the councilors who want Thorin hamstrung. In the end, though, the battle won't be won with the common folk; you have to win over enough of the Council that you aren't in danger of them taking direct action. I keep trying to convince Thorin of this, but father was never good at managing the Council either. And unfortunately, the only other king my brother ever saw was our grandfather. _Sigin'adad_ was essentially a war boar barely disguised as a dwarf. Any councilor who tried to oppose him would be at least trampled, if not gored." She gave a small chuckle. "But Thorin is in a much weaker position than grandfather ever was, and he doesn't see it. He thinks he can bully and browbeat them into submission, but truly it's the Grars and Irins that hold the power now, because they've had twenty years to accumulate it while father sat in his vaults and thought about nothing but gold. Thorin never took an interest in the more tedious aspects of ruling; he was always out fighting orcs and goblins, killing wild animals, learning to ride anything that would hold him, anything to get out of the mountain and demonstrate bravery and strength. I think he believed that if he found the Dragon Crown, our father would be able to rule again, but as you know that was not to be. Now that inattention to the other part of ruling will come back to haunt him, if the Consort doesn't take it on." She smiled ruefully. "Which is where you come in." Ah, the hobbit thought. Drat, blast and confound it. So that's where this was going. I think I liked the apology part more, awkward as it was.

"I, uh..." Bilbo sighed gustily. "I suppose I'm no stranger to managing the expectations of grumpy old people, but..." Dis' delighted peal of laughter was interrupted by the door being thrown open. A furious Thorin stormed in in a swirl of robes, followed by Balin and Ori.

"Wretched useless idiots, I should have them all flayed! Even the crown is useless, because of course they're lying, they all lie! Balin, can't we..." Thorin drew up short as Dis shook her head mournfully. "_Azyungel_, you're awake... and dressed." He looked shocked, which Bilbo thought was odd considering what they were doing just last... no, he reminded himself as he felt a stirring in his trousers. Still not a good time to think about that subject. He was feeling a bit tired, but he thought it worthwhile to hear about what had happened to put his lover in such a strop.

"Yes, I am, Thorin, well spotted," Bilbo said with a wry grin. "I see your council meeting went about as well as the one I attended." Thorin's exclamation of disgust was mirrored by Balin's snort, but Ori grinned at the hobbit and clasped his hand softly.

"I'm glad to see you up again, Bilbo. We were all worried," the young Scribe said in a quiet voice. Bilbo thought he looked quite grand in his formal robes and sash, but before he could say so Thorin was in full cry.

"They're impossible!" he shouted furiously. "Irin and Shar sit and smirk and snipe and pick at everything I say, they're worse than elves! Poor Ragni can't remember who she is or where she is, and she keeps calling me Thror and asking me about personal trivia from grandfather's day. Imalek has decided that you're the end of all dwarven customs in disguise as a hobbit, and all he wants to do is argue about stories that nobody has told in centuries!" Ori's quiet throat clearing and sidelong look went unnoticed by everyone but Bilbo, but it told the hobbit that that last statement was perhaps an exaggeration on the king's part. "I thought I would have some peace once I sent that snake Grar to the forest, but now it's worse than ever." He smiled wickedly. "I remember how much Thranduil loved him, so hopefully he understands the gift I've given him."

"Thorin!" Bilbo said, mouth forming an 'o' of comprehension. "Did you really... Was _that_ why you sent..." Dis glanced at him, mouth tense. Ori cleared his throat again, louder this time.

"Nar certainly gave an interesting statement today," the young dwarf said, interrupting the hobbit's question and getting curious looks from everyone except those who had been in the Council meeting. Balin immediately started snickering. When Dis motioned for him to continue, his mouth quirked up. "They were discussing the possibility of a formal censure of Thorin for taking up with, as they put it, 'undesirable elements'. That would be you," he glanced at Bilbo, whose affronted look was only to be expected. "Nar stood up and told them in no uncertain terms that he thought they were fools to oppose you because, he said, you obviously had the blessings of Mahal many times over to find the Axe and crown both and that even Vekkad had acknowledged it before his death. He finished up by telling them that if they were determined to, as he put it, 'stand between Mahal's hammer and his anvil', that he would enjoy seeing them humiliated. You can well imagine how that was received." Dis was sitting with her head in her hands, but Bilbo suspected from the sounds emerging that she was snickering. Even Thorin looked proud, though his irritation was still barely below the surface. "They all shouted at him and he just laughed. It was quite a scene." Ori leaned in laughing and whispered to the hobbit while nodding at the servant, still visible bustling about the bedroom. "The topic of Grar is perhaps not a good one to discuss with other ears about."

Bilbo could only imagine the rage of the High Councilors at being opposed like that, but in light of what Dis had told him he thought this sounded a bit dangerous. "That's... flattering, I suppose," he said, "but I hope they aren't enraged enough to do anything too extreme. I can't imagine a rift between the king and the Council would help Erebor."

"I see you have been speaking with my sister for quite a while," Thorin said, cutting his eyes at Dis, "that sounds exactly like something she would say." He walked over and enfolded Bilbo in his arms. "I'm glad to see you up and walking, my heart. How is your wound?" Bilbo could feel the eyes on them, but he couldn't resist leaning into his handsome dwarf, feeling the heavy embroidery in the coat press through his shirt in ridges and bumps. He surreptitiously buried his nose in the loose strands of black hair, savoring the scent of Thorin that they bore. Finally, remembering their audience, he pulled back before Balin could start making outraged noises.

"I feel much better. It doesn't hurt, though I'm still getting tired fairly easily."

Balin smiled and strode over, clapping Bilbo lightly on his uninjured shoulder. "Excellent news, lad, excellent! We're all glad you're recovering. Now you can move back to your own rooms, since you're clearly out of danger." His tight little smile met Thorin's furious glare, and Dis' snort of amusement echoed through the room. Everyone started speaking at once.

"Well he's clearly recovering -" Balin began.

"There is no way I will allow -" Thorin burst out.

"You can't think you're going to just have him -" Dis exclaimed in disgust.

"_Silence_!" Thorin shouted, and Bilbo was reminded of the scene in the Council meeting he had attended. "I will decide what -" Bilbo reached out and put his hand on Thorin's arm, cutting him off in midsentence.

"Since I was the one who was attacked, and the one who is recovering," Bilbo said in his most reasonable tone of voice, "I think I get to state an opinion here before anyone else. And what I think is that I should indeed go back to my own rooms." Thorin's look of betrayal was painful, but the hobbit knew he was making the right decision. "I don't want to cause any more of a scandal than I probably already have." Balin nodded grimly, and half-bowed to Bilbo. "I would like to request a guard, though, or some way to make sure I'm not there, well, alone. I don't feel safe just..." Thorin's hand went to his back, and the comfort of it was just what the hobbit needed.

"I will do better than a guard, _azyungel_," Thorin grumbled. "You will be moved to the Consort's Chambers, so that Dis and I are both nearby and you are better protected by far than you would be in the guest wing." Dis scowled, but finally shrugged.

"You're going to irritate the Council even further with that, Thorin, and you know it," she glanced at the hobbit with a reluctant expression of compassion, "but you're right, he's a target all the way over there in the guest rooms by himself. We just have to let them know that he will be rigorously chaperoned here." Thorin scowled mutinously, but seemed to realize that this was a fight he wouldn't win.

"They can be irritated until the Shadow comes and takes them all," he muttered. "After the coronation, I will hasten this wedding and they can choke on that. Master Baggins has been quite patient enough with me, I think," he said with a slow smile at Bilbo, who was flushing to the tips of his ears. Really, he thought, Thorin says the most personal things in the middle of the room with not a thought to who's there! He thought of their final conversation of the night before and wanted to sink into the floor in embarrassment. Dis looked between the two lovers and shook her head, not being privy to the lover's recent words.

"Thorin, I don't know how he puts up with you. You're as romantic as a lump of chert sometimes." Bickering companionably, they sat until Bilbo finally had to retreat to the bedroom and spend a final night in Thorin's luxurious bed. The next morning he returned to his rooms with servants in tow and gathered up his things. Ironic, he grinned as they walked, that an assassin would lure me away from my rooms by promising the very thing that he made possible for me to do. The Consort's Chambers were more gaudy, opulent and ornate than anything Bilbo had seen yet, and the profusion of gold and gems was a bit off-putting. He resolved that after the wedding, he would have a quiet word with someone about getting some of the rooms redone to reflect Shire tastes with more wood paneling and soft fabrics and less... hard-edged splendor. Sighing, he clambered up into yet another absurdly soft bed, wishing as he sank into the soft sheets that Thorin could be in it with him for more of those wonderful lessons.

Several weeks came and went, and Bilbo's wound was almost completely healed. Thorin continued to fight with the Council but otherwise things seemed unchanged. Bilbo was disappointed when no further intimate adventures were possible, but Dis had clearly meant every word when she said 'rigorous chaperoning'; Bilbo was beginning to think that if Thorin was anywhere in the suite, someone might start to accompany him when he used the chamberpot. Every touch beyond a chaste kiss was scrutinized, and the one time Thorin decided to ignore Balin's insistent attempts to instill propriety and give Bilbo what the hobbit considered a proper kiss, Balin started an argument about it. Even worse, despite the hobbit's attempts to please, or at least appease, the seven councilors, they could barely bring themselves to be civil when he spoke to them. On a brighter note, after an awkward conversation with Dis, Bilbo was finally given access to some funds; he still couldn't imagine asking Thorin for money. He went immediately with Ori to commission a piece of work for his gift to Thorin, though the jeweler looked at him as though he were mad when he described it. Regardless, he knew what he wanted and the craftsmanship on offer was amazing; he even paid the jeweler a premium for silence at Ori's recommendation. Not knowing when Thorin might decide to surprise him with the third courting gift, the hobbit figured it was a good idea to be prepared.

The only real event of note was when word came from Greenwood that Grar seemed to have unaccountably gone missing after barely a week in the forest kingdom. Thorin was laughing so hard he could barely read the letter, but Thranduil sent his solemn assurances that every attempt was being made to locate the missing dwarf. There was concern about a recent infestation of giant spiders (at this point in the letter Thorin was sprawled across a daybed in Bilbo's chambers literally gasping for breath, much to Balin's disgust) and the king worried that the heavy dwarf had proven irresistible to the giant arachnids if he had somehow ended up in their clutches. The elf king sent his deepest apologies for the bad news, and promised that his soldiers were sparing no effort in their search. He included a letter to Bilbo in Sindarin, mostly polite nothings with some items of historical interest, but the text of the letter seemed to be arranged rather unusually on the page. When the hobbit informed Thorin that the letters at the beginning of every line of writing spelled out the Sindarin words for 'my thanks', in the specific form used between two equals, the king had another laughing fit. In the end, Thorin drafted a very sternly worded admonition to better look after the safety of his subjects in the future but instructed Bilbo to write "my pleasure" in appropriate Sindarin on a smaller piece of parchment, which was tucked inside the formal letter as it was rolled and sealed. After the hobbit had a private chat with Dis about it, she had to admit that perhaps Thorin wasn't utterly useless at intrigue after all.

Finally, the day of Thorin's formal coronation arrived. Bilbo dressed in a new set of fine clothes designed specifically for the occasion; Dis had ensured that he was clad head to toe (ankle, really, since he insisted that he still wouldn't wear anything on his feet, thank you very much) in the colors of the Durins. His splendid new coat was embroidered with Thorin's raven in place of the traditional seal of the Consorts. Bilbo marched with Dis and her sons in the procession for Thorin, ignoring the glares of most of the Council as he came onto the dais and stood behind the throne with the rest of the family, but he was quickly distracted from any concerns by the sheer beauty of the prepared hall.

The ceremony was long and full of at least as much pomp as he had expected. Thorin looked utterly magnificent in his deep indigo robes and the Raven Crown now resting on his brow. Everyone was dressed beautifully, but the hobbit only had eyes for his beloved today, and he thought Thorin had never looked more regal. Every motion, every expression, every heavy ceremonial response made Bilbo's heart leap with happiness for his love. He knew that Thorin didn't particularly want to be king, but he thought he would make a phenomenally good one nonetheless. Even the usually sour councilors seemed to be in a good mood once the ceremony began, smiling and showing none of their usual surliness. The singing was likewise magnificent, especially when a choir of Scribes led by Ori recited the Song of Durin. In spite of the excellence of the performance, after what seemed like an eternity of incomprehensible singing in Khuzdul, Bilbo was quite ready to go and celebrate. Each time he thought things were winding down, a drum would beat, the horns would sound, and another echoing _Hrum_ would sound from the Scribes and be returned by the crowd before another song would begin. His attention was drifting to the clothes worn in the crowd surging in front of the throne when suddenly a finger was jammed painfully into his side. Jerking in surprise, he looked over at Dis who was staring meaningfully at him and gesturing impatiently with her head for him to move. With deep chagrin he realized that Thorin had called his name, and he walked to stand in front of him. The hobbit didn't know whether to feel proud or intimidated; Thorin looked so imposing seated upon the throne in his finery, like a painting or sculpture of a king from the old legends. The one thing that didn't fit the impression of an ancient king was the look on his face, which was full of rapt adoration.

"Bilbo Baggins, son of Bungo Baggins, of the Shire, in this the hall of my fathers I name you my One and my beloved. As Narvi found his mate in Celenae, so I have found you, though a world lay between us." Gasps went through the crowd, though there were a few cheers. The faces of the councilors were masks of fury that Thorin would make an announcement at the coronation itself (with the exception of poor General Ragni, who simply looked befuddled, and Minelord Kuguz who looked upset). Bilbo felt himself reddening, and he was simultaneously seized with the urge to kill Thorin and kiss him. Why, he wondered for the thousandth time, did dwarves rejoice in making private moments both public and awkward? "As my third and final courting gift, I offer you this ring which I made for you." A golden ring lay on his palm, set with gems that glowed of their own light like the ones he had seen on Thranduil's throne. Each gem was the petal of a flower, and the ring was carved to look like a bouquet of glowing posies set in a thin border of gold. Bilbo stared at it, and thought it might just be the loveliest piece of jewelry he'd ever seen. Thorin made this?, he thought in amazement. "The third gift was made by my hand, and shows your meaning to me. It is a ring, because my love for you is as unending as the circle. It is made with the jewels of starlight, because you are the light of my eyes and my heart. I offer you my kingdom, myself and my heart, _azyungel_... will you have me?" The roar of the crowd was louder, a blend of happiness and confusion with some angry voices mixed in, and most of the councilors looked so wroth they were practically vibrating in place. Despite this, Bilbo saw nothing else in the world but the ring and the expression on his lover's face.

"Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, now King under the Mountain, I would have you if you were a beggar. You are my heart and my joy. I accept your gift," he held out his hand and Thorin tried to place the ring in it, but Bilbo wiggled his fingers and the king slid the band onto his middle finger with a smile. He had crafted it well, because it fit perfectly. "In return, I offer you this token of acceptance." He thanked the Green Lady that he had been carrying it with him everywhere since getting it made. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a locket. It was made of gold, engraved with the hammer, anvil and seven stars of Durin, but in the center the pendant was a flat piece of clear crystal set in a worked strip of gold. Beneath the crystal was a single curling lock of golden brown hair. "I know that dwarves call their hair their honor." A hush fell over the hall, and Ori gasped aloud. "I give you this, Thorin, as a token that I trust you with my honor as with my life. All that I am and was and will be, I gift to you, my love. In my homeland of the Shire, this is a gift that we give those most dear to us, and you are the most dear to me of all I have ever known." The hall was still eerily quiet, and Thorin looked shocked. A murmur swept the room, and Thorin looked up at Bilbo. The hobbit felt a horrible sinking sensation as he realized that Thorin was crying silently, tears running into his beard.

"You give me too much," the king said in a choked voice. "Too much." Despite his words, he took the pendant with reverence and placed it over his head with shaking hands, lifting his hair over it. Dis and her sons cheered determinedly. At the sound a few others in the crowd cheered as well, though there was a lot of confusion and scandalized grumbling as well. Thorin embraced him, and Bilbo felt his dwarf's body trembling where they touched.

"I'm so sorry, Thorin, I thought..." he started to whisper, but Thorin shook his head slightly.

"Later," he murmured, then stood up from the throne and embraced Bilbo and kissed him in front of the crowd to shocked muttering. In a booming voice, he proclaimed "Good people, let us celebrate! You have a king, and he is betrothed! Let the feasting begin!" This got a resounding cheer much louder than anything that had come before, and the surge of the crowd towards the doors covered Thorin's withdrawal with his arm tucked possessively in Bilbo's. The councilors didn't try to speak to him, but their glares left no doubt as to their opinion of this unscheduled addition to the ceremony. Imalek grumbled something about scandal and disgrace, but Bilbo ignored him resolutely as they passed by. Once they got back to Thorin's Chambers, though, Dis flung herself down in a chair and her sons practically fled the room. Her face was livid as she rounded on the hobbit.

"Are you completely mad? Who told you to do that?" she growled, but before she could say anything else, Thorin took Bilbo by the elbow and led him into the bedroom and slammed the door. "Thorin!" the hobbit heard her shout through the door. "You can't hide in there from me!" She pounded on the door for a moment, but Bilbo was too busy trying not to cry to care. Thorin looked careworn, but he smiled at Bilbo in spite of... well, the hobbit thought angrily, whatever I've done now. Renewed pounding echoed through the room, and Thorin went over and yanked the door open, giving a furious Dis an identical glare of his own.

"Give us time to discuss this, and stop acting like a fool!" he shouted. "Now sit, and we will be out presently, or go drown yourself in the bath if you wish, but be silent doing it!" And with that, he slammed the door again. Bilbo wanted to hide, but he squared his shoulders bravely.

"Well, what did I do this time?" he asked, but his brave facade was ruined by his voice cracking on the last word. "I thought... in the Shire..." Thorin came over and kissed him softly on the forehead.

"You wouldn't know, Bilbo. It's alright. It was just... unexpected. I can't be upset, because Balin would never have told you about that." He sighed heavily, then sat down and interlaced his fingers with Bilbo's. "There is a ceremony that is only done in, well, I suppose you would say extreme circumstances. When one dwarf saves another's life over and over, or when a family has been dishonored and a dwarf wishes to be adopted into a new family... they give them a lock of hair. It has never before been given as an expression of love, though, at least I have never heard of it used as such. It's a... pledge of absolute fealty, a bond of servitude. In some kingdoms, it would effectively make you my slave. It signifies a debt that cannot be repaid with anything but the life of the giver. I can get around the problem by formally adopting you into the clan of Durin, but it was simply a shock, that's all." He ran his hands through his hair distractedly, knocking out one of the bejeweled pins that kept the dark mass back from his face. He aimed a lopsided smile at the hobbit. "It was a kingly gift, I must admit."

"Maybe I shouldn't marry you," Bilbo said despondently. "Everything I do seems to go wrong. I'll just be one disaster after another." Thorin lifted Bilbo's hand and kissed the knuckles, and the reminder of their early courting days made tears run down the hobbit's face. "I'm so sorry, Thorin," he gasped out, sobs fighting their way out. "I can't..." Thorin enfolded the hobbit in his arms, stroking his back and making soothing sounds.

"Nonsense, _azyungel_," he murmured, "there's no need to apologize, it will all work out. I was just startled, we will be married and it will all be fine. You will make a fine dwarf one day, even for a hobbit." Thorin held Bilbo closely, and the hobbit tried his best to believe his dwarf's words of comfort. It was nice being here alone, if only for a moment. He tried to resist the sinking feeling that came over him when Thorin finally said "Now let's go talk to Dis before she sets fire to the room to smoke us out."


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a feast is had, Bilbo gets to live out one of his fantasies, the king and his hobbit finally get some unchaperoned time to enjoy themselves, and a shocking message is received.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading, and your kudos and comments bring me joy! Please don't hate me for this chapter.

By the time they emerged from the bedroom, both looking calmer, Dis had settled down somewhat as well. Bilbo was delighted that she had stopped shouting at least. He felt enough like an idiot as it was, and berated himself over and over for not checking with Balin or Ori or someone about his courting gift. He swore he would never understand dwarves if he lived to be older than an elf; things that regular folk found complex were simple and of no moment to them, but things that should be simple were unbelievably complex, fraught with more hidden meanings than a spy's letters! After her third pointed question and the hobbit's third morose reply about his gift, Thorin's brows drew down and he stood up sharply.

"We must get to the feast," he announced, standing up. "All the questions in the world don't matter now. Bilbo had it made for me, I accepted it, and that's the end of it. Any other meanings people might have taken from the form of his gift will be resolved in time, but for now we need to show our faces to the people." He reached out and ran a finger down the hobbit's cheek, making him look up. Smiling down at him, he raised his eyebrows. "Show our _smiling_ faces, _azyungel_. Remember, we mustn't look upset, it's our betrothal day." Bilbo smiled bravely, but he half-suspected his expression was just this side of a grimace. Thorin's hand slid across Bilbo's curls and then feathered through them softly. The hobbit leaned into his hand before stopping with shock. He realized this was the first time Thorin had ever touched his hair like that, the same way that... He peered up at his beloved in amazement, but Thorin was looking away. The flush on his cheeks told the story, however. Dis rolled her eyes, but laughed.

"Well, I suppose you _are_ betrothed now. Mahal's hammer, you're going to be insufferable for a while, I can tell. Try to stay out of each other's clothes while I'm present, if you please." Her bittersweet smile took the sting out of her words, but Bilbo was totally focused on their meaning. Now that she mentioned it, he remembered Thorin saying that once they were betrothed it would be almost the same as when they were married. He looked up sharply.

"Wait, so now that we are betrothed, that means...?" Thorin's half-lidded eyes and naughty smile in response sent blood pouring to Bilbo's nether regions.

"That means that we are done with chaperones." He leaned down and kissed Bilbo lightly, but the tension in his body and hands was evident. Neither of them wanted to stop. Vague memories of the feast intruded.

"It... oh." Bilbo said faintly. "M... must we go to the feast?" Dis' belly laugh was both extremely loud and quite unwelcome, the hobbit thought bitterly, but it did serve to remind them that she was there. He stepped back with a faint groan, but smoothed his beloved's clothes down and restored him to a proper appearance. Remembering the hair pin, he went back in the bedroom then came back to the front room holding it. "Have a seat," he said with a smile. Thorin looked at the pin, looked at Bilbo, swallowed heavily, then sat. The hobbit threaded his fingers through heavy black tresses, pulling them back on the side that was down to match the other. Dis clucked her tongue and looked away as Bilbo set the pin in a way that the curtain of dark and silver hair was restrained without looking askew. He noticed idly that the final traces of the dark feeling had faded from the hair that had suffered the shadow's touch and the new grey streak at the top of Thorin's hair felt like the rest of it; he couldn't resist smoothing his fingers across it as well, slightly coarser whitish-grey hair tugging at his fingers among the heavy dark strands. The gentle weight of the courting braid lay draped across his wrist, and Thorin's sharp inhalation almost made Bilbo lose his concentration completely. When he pulled back, the king's dilated blue eyes and reddish flush under his short beard told a clear story.

"Come along, you two," Dis said sharply. "There's food and celebration to be had, and I'm tired of sitting around in Thorin's rooms while everyone else is having fun. Please don't make cow eyes at each other in front of the councilors, I suspect they've had enough shocks for one day... or year," she said in fake disgust as she herded them out the door. When they arrived in the Royal Feasting Halls from the king's halls, the crowd was so thick that below the dais was a sea of dwarves. Thank the Green Lady we don't have to go through that, Bilbo thought in a daze. The heat and noise of the hall were overwhelming. Important emissaries sat already at the royal table; Prince Legolas representing Thranduil, a dwarf almost as big as Nar named Burek from the Iron Hills, and several other dwarven notables from farther away, King Bard of Dale, wearing raiment that Bilbo would once have thought luxurious before coming to Erebor... each had a spot at the long table in the front of the hall commensurate with their rank and power. Thorin stopped as they entered though, a frown crossing his face.

"There's only one throne," he said sharply, glaring at the dais as though it had personally offended him. "Bilbo should be seated beside me." Dis gave him a look of pure exasperation.

"Thorin, the room has been set up for a week; nobody knew of your plans to formalize your betrothal until an hour ago. Be reasonable for once in your life." Seeing the stubborn set of her brother's jaw, she shook her head sadly. Turning to Bilbo, she said "You see? It's completely as I told you. He would never dream of making a fuss like this over whether I had a seat, and I'm his sister." Bilbo giggled in spite of himself, but stopped Thorin's increasingly exasperated attempts to call over one of the servants attempting to fight their way through the press.

"It's fine, love... she's completely right, I don't need to be at the table there. I can sit with Ori," he said, hoping he'd guessed the right empty spot at the table since he couldn't read the place markers from where he stood. The king refused to listen, though, and the whole table ended up rearranged with Bilbo sitting between Dis and Thorin in the center of the table. No sooner had Bilbo sat down than Ori moved behind him and leaned over his chair.

"Bilbo, you are the most romantic dwar... hobbit I've ever known," the young dwarf said extravagantly, sash sitting askew over his robes. Bilbo could smell ale on him to the point that he was rather amazed the new Chamberlain was still upright, let alone speaking. "That was a... a... it was a thing. Amazing thing. Nobody ever gave themselves as a presh... presser... gift before. You're a brave, brave dwarf. Hobbit. Thing. So romantic." With a sniffling sigh and a fumbling shoulder pat, Ori staggered back to his seat, leaving the hobbit somewhat stunned after his first encounter with a truly drunken dwarf. Well, he thought philosophically, it's no worse than the Green Dragon on a Saturday night, I suppose. 

The food was seemingly endless, and everything Bilbo tasted was delicious. The spice issue seemed to have been quietly worked out after Bilbo had a word with Thorin, because everything was much more flavorful and the variety of foods would have impressed even the Shire. Whole roasts and enormous cuts and joints of meat of all kinds were the centerpieces, but there were huge quantities of pies, puddings and all sorts of vegetables. A dazzling array of fruits, many of which Bilbo didn't even recognize, were cooked in other dishes or piled up in bowls and on platters for the taking, along with a wide selection of sauces ranging from simple brown gravy that would be at home in any farmstead in the Shire to some sort of creamy sweet white clove sauce that Bilbo could have consumed as a beverage. As the crowning ironic touch, the hobbit noticed as soon as he approached the table that the food near the king was served in plates and dishes with the same enchantment as the serving dish he had found in Sarkhubuland, keeping food cold or hot according to the nature of the gems set in it. With a private chuckle Bilbo began to heap up a plate with food for himself, thinking that he didn't mind a little rowdy drunkenness if this sort of meal was included.

His stoicism was put to the test within twenty minutes as the first of what would be numerous fistfights broke out in the crowded hall. Thorin, far from intervening, laughed along with everyone else as two dwarves hit, punched, kicked, clawed at and (at one point) bit each other, and when a horrified Bilbo asked Dis why they were fighting her answer was a supremely unconcerned shrug. The same was true of most of the rest, with one exception: one fight almost on the dais involved a small, tight-faced dwarf who produced a knife from his boot, and Thorin sent the guards immediately to stop it and arrest the one who pulled a weapon. So in the end, Bilbo assumed it was all more or less safe. He had to laugh when he remembered his shock all those months ago at dwarves laughing at danger; now it seemed normal, which was even more surprising when he thought about it. I suppose I really am changing, he was forced to conclude, but it didn't seem wrong or odd, just bittersweet.

As the night wore on and everyone drank more and more, things became progressively rowdier and more uncouth. The elves and humans left fairly early but the dwarves just got drunker, louder and more raucous, shouting, dancing and throwing food (and anything else within range). Bilbo was feeling a bit tipsy himself after trying some of the ale, which he quickly discovered had a kick like a mule. He switched to the boiled water set out for mixing with wine after only a few swallows but even those few swallows were enough to leave his head spinning. Thorin's hand began occasionally wandering under the table, and it was all he could do to keep his face placid with heavy fingers sliding along his side and leg. Looking down the table the hobbit spotted a tray full of sticky pastries, wafer thin layers of crust sandwiched with chopped dates and walnuts, dripping with honey. He leaned over and pulled the tray towards himself. Dis looked almost asleep, propped up on the arm of her stone chair, and he rested the tray in front of her while he loaded a small golden plate with dainties. Standing up, he leaned on the arm of Thorin's throne with a small, secretive smile. The king had been distracted by another fight some distance away because mugs and plates were being thrown, so when he looked back he seemed a bit surprised to see Bilbo standing so near. His eyes flicked from the hobbit's face to the plate, and back up to the smile. Without a word, he leaned over and pulled Bilbo onto his lap, the madly giggling hobbit lying now across the arms of the chair with his legs danging, and Thorin smiled down at him, kissing him first lightly on his forehead before leaning in to brush his lips against his lover's.

Flushing, Bilbo struggled back somewhat upright. Taking one of the sweet bites off the plate, he raised it to Thorin's mouth and just watched as red lips parted, strong white teeth biting off a small piece and honey running along his mouth from the sticky pastry. Bilbo leaned up and kissed him, tongue swiping out to savor the honey and sweetness, relishing the growl Thorin produced as it rumbled against his lips. The king's short beard felt magnificent against his face, and the sweetness of the honey and dates made his head spin. He put the remainder of the pastry between his teeth and leaned in, Thorin's tongue fighting his around it until it finally broke into pieces. He wasn't sure what of the sweetness was from the food and what was from Thorin; both were intoxicating. When the king took his hand and lifted it, he felt the beard swipe across his fingers briefly before each finger vanished between soft sticky red lips, a tongue swirling across them in the warm wetness of Thorin's mouth. Thorin picked up one of the bite sized sweets and smiled wickedly, and Bilbo felt his stomach clench lustfully just at the sight of him. One by one the gooey treats were offered morsel by morsel and bite by bite, and Bilbo was given as many by his lover as he offered himself. The taste of skin and Thorin's strong fingers mingled with honey and kisses to make his head spin worse than the ale had. Finally Thorin urged him to his feet then stood, taking his hand and they withdrew for the night. Neither of them noticed or cared Loremaster Imalek grimacing at them in utter disgust as they left, enthralled with each other.

Despite it being one of his best memories later, Bilbo could never remember the entire trip back to his chambers. Flashes of them pressing against the wall, kissing madly, were all that he could recall, uncaring of propriety and trusting in the fragile privacy of the empty hallways. There was one statue in a niche outside the king's quarters that Bilbo could never pass again without remembering Thorin's hands inside his shirt, pressing still slightly-sticky fingers into the hobbit's back and belly as they kissed like starving men eat. When the door was sealed behind them, Thorin was breathing heavily but just watched Bilbo with a heavy-lidded gaze for a minute. The hobbit's legs were so trembly that he was forced to stagger over to a chair and sit, but still the king's eyes were dark on him. Finally the hobbit said "What are you looking at, my love?" He meant for it to sound seductive, but it came out breathy and squeaky. Thorin didn't seem to mind.

"The most beautiful thing I've ever seen," came the rumbling reply. Thorin blinked slowly then crossed the room like a stalking leopard, all smooth rolling muscles and loping stride, robes swirling behind him as he moved. Before Bilbo could react, there were lips on his, a hand wrapped in the curls at the back of his head pressing him forward... his eyes fluttered shut and he heard a faint whining sound, then realized it was coming from his own throat. "I have wanted you so long, Mahal knows... oh _azyungel_, the things I want to do to you..."

"Do them," was his immediate response. "All of them. Teach me, Thorin." With a soft moan, Thorin was suddenly on him, leaning over and pressing into him, hardness a steely line beneath the rich robes. Bilbo suddenly pulled at the cloth, wanting to see his lover's skin. "Too many clothes," he said hurriedly, and a deep chuckle was the only response as Thorin began shedding layers one by one. The beautiful robes ended up in a puddle of fabric on the floor; the snowy white samite shirt underneath was thrown over a couch, and as Thorin sat bare-chested in nothing but Bilbo's locket and worked to shed his boots Bilbo went to help. He was curious about something, and despite being almost crazed with wanting, he still felt the itch of curiosity that wouldn't let him rest. He helped Thorin pull off his boots, then took off the stockings beneath until the king's bare feet were revealed. Taking one of them, he ran his fingers over the high arches and marveled at how soft and hairless they were. Thorin looked at him as though he were mad, but he didn't care.

"_Azyungel_," Thorin said slowly, "what are you doing to my feet? And... why?" He blinked down at the hobbit where he sat, holding onto the king's feet and rubbing them gently.

"They're so small and soft... Thorin, your feet are beautiful. They're adorable!" Bilbo slowly ran his thumbs along the tops of the feet in his grip, feeling only a few curling dark hairs and the softness of skin that never touched the bare ground. They were so pale, never having been in the sun. He looked briefly at his own feet, suddenly seeming unfamiliar in their large tanned furriness, then back at the almost dainty feet in his hands, delicate toes curling into his fingers. His ruminations were interrupted by Thorin hauling him up to a standing position.

"Come here. I fear it is you who are overdressed, my heart," Thorin whispered, "let's correct that." He started unbuttoning Bilbo's waistcoat and the hobbit sighed softly, running his fingers through the dark pelt of Thorin's chest, caressing the heavy muscles of his chest and back as thick but dexterous fingers unfastened the shirt's laces and then Bilbo raised his arms as the king pulled the shirt over his head and dropped it on top of his own shirt on the nearby couch. The dwarf's fingers slid along Bilbo's chest and shoulders in the same way that he had caressed Thorin's feet. "So smooth," he said softly, baritone voice almost vibrating through his gentle fingertips, "your skin is so amazingly smooth." He leaned his head into the crook of Bilbo's neck, inhaling sharply as his hair fell like a silver-streaked waterfall across Bilbo's chest. "You smell so good, like sweet things and summer," he bit lightly at Bilbo's throat, kissing as he went, "you are truly blessed by Javun." Bilbo was finally able to run his hands again and again through the waves of black hair as he had wanted for months, pulling out the bejeweled pins and dropping them on the floor in his haste. He enjoyed watching Thorin's face as it slipped further and further into bliss with each pass of the hobbit's fingers through his mane, each gentle kiss pressed into its length. Faint moans and whimpers came from the king's throat as Bilbo finally was able to indulge himself, tugging gently on handfuls of the lovely hair and enjoying its cool smoothness on his hands and face. Remembering their time together in Thorin's lavish bath, the hobbit leaned in and ran his tongue along the shell of Thorin's ear, then nibbled along his throat. Spasmodically clenching fingers told him that he was doing well, along with the increasingly deep and ragged breaths, but Thorin's eyes stayed closed as he let Bilbo explore to his heart's content. Not, Bilbo thought in a wave of pure adoration, that his heart would ever be content and done with this, he would always want one more touch, one more smell, one more taste of Thorin if he lived until the end of the world.

From Thorin's hair, Bilbo's attention wandered across a body that seemed designed specifically to interest him. Under the long hair in the back, along the nape of the neck, there were tiny curling hairs that cried out for attention. There was a mole on Thorin's left shoulder that needed, demanded touch; there was a short, almost invisible scar along one pronounced trapezius muscle that mocked Bilbo until he bit at it, causing Thorin to cry out and undulate in a way that frankly, the hobbit thought, must be illegal. Soft fingertips slid down a thick dwarven spine, heavy muscles cording the back and stretching the smooth, pale skin into fascinating humps and valleys that whispered 'explore me', and twin dimples just above the waistline cried out for notice. Tufts of hair under the massive arms blended into the thick, curly hair that filled Thorin's chest and led down his rippled abdomen in a wave into the unfastened top button of trousers which were straining at the front over an obvious erection. A large scar crossed his ribs on the left side, turning some of the hair white. When Bilbo trailed his fingers along it, Thorin gave a wry smile and said simply "Azanulbizar." The hobbit leaned in to kiss along it, feeling tears well up even though he didn't know precisely why.

"I hate that anyone hurt you," Bilbo whispered. He rubbed his cheek against the corded forearm nearest him, enjoying the spring of the bristly hairs on it against his cheeks. Thorin smelled of sandalwood from his bath, a smell the hobbit would never again associate with anything but pleasure. "I've wanted this for so long, Thorin," he said, looking up from where he lay half-sprawled across the dwarf's legs. "A year ago, I would have run from this in disgust. Six months ago, I would have been terrified, even though I knew I wanted it. Now? Now, my... what is it? _Azyungel_? I'm yours." The sound of the words coming from Bilbo made Thorin twitch and his breath catch.

"Mahal, to hear you call me that," Thorin said raggedly, hands pulling the hobbit inexorably up to a kiss that left them both breathless and flushed. "Come," he said, and lifted Bilbo bodily up and carried him to the bedroom. He wiggled a bit, not sure if he actually wanted to be carried, but the hobbit realized as long as they got to the bed it didn't actually matter. There was also something comforting about Thorin's careless strength, he realized. Soon, he was lowered gently onto the luxurious mattress and rolled over onto his stomach to look at Thorin.

"For some inexplicable reason, you seem to still be wearing trousers, my king," Bilbo said in a mock-formal voice, giving a seductive smile, "allow me to assist you with that." He popped the buttons open along the placket, sliding his hand into the space revealed for a quick feel of hardened flesh and being rewarded with a sharp hissing inhale. Easing them down from narrow hips, he fought a bit to get them over the tremendous muscles of Thorin's thighs, trying not to give way to temptation and turn immediately to the straining erection thrusting out from its nest of dark curls in front of his face. Once they were removed, he said "Like a good servant, I..." Thorin looked down with a dark expression, suddenly serious, and Bilbo stopped, wondering if he had overstepped again.

"Never say that, _azyungel_," Thorin half-whispered, "you are no servant to me. You are my king at least as much as I am yours, and I could serve you for a thousand years and not repay the joy you bring me in a single day." Thorin gave a slow, easy smile that made Bilbo's sudden sense of coldness in the pit of his stomach warm again. "I will be your servant now, for once again I am not the one in too many clothes." The king's hands made quick work of Bilbo's more loosely cut trousers, peeling them off after remembering to release the buttons holding them at the shins. His fingers continued to linger in the fur on Bilbo's feet, ruffling it softly and rubbing his ankles. "These feet may seem strange to a dwarf but they suit you so well. It mystifies Dis that you will not wear shoes, but I couldn't imagine it. To see you with your feet covered would be... wrong, I think." Bilbo kissed him in response, because really, he wondered fondly, what other response was there to be made to a statement so loving and yet so perceptive? Thorin began kissing his way down Bilbo's chest and the hobbit's heart lurched in anticipation. This time, though, he was surprised when Thorin kissed and licked his way along his length and across his taut sac and then went...

"Oh!" Bilbo almost shrieked at the sensation. "Thorin! What... oh... you mustn't, that's... _oh_!" It would seem that the strong muscles which were apparent on the naked body of his dwarf were matched by the strength of other muscles as well, Bilbo realized in a daze. Thorin's lips locked onto his most secret place, tongue dancing along the tight pucker and then boring inward. Bilbo didn't know whether to run away or melt; this was far beyond anything he had ever imagined might be desirable or even possible. Possible or not, it was quickly turning him inside out and upside down. Deep humming from the king vibrated through the hobbit's entire nervous system, or at least it felt that way. The scratching of the beard was exquisite torture on sensitive flesh, but that tongue was a force of nature, pressing, pushing, probing... Bilbo couldn't even get his arms and legs to respond beyond feeble twitching and gasping for breath. He was paralyzed with pleasure. Minutes fled by as the hobbit writhed on the spike of muscle that impaled him, ecstasy building on itself, but even at that Bilbo was still surprised when the first finger pressed into him. It had never occurred to him that something like that could be done, and the feel of the finger made him think of other things which... suddenly, the hobbit realized how things must work between men for, well, for _that_. While the thought of Thorin's substantial organ doing what his finger was currently doing was terrifying on one level, on another level it was appealing in a way that hadn't even been known until now. The motion ceased, and blue eyes looked up to him for reactions, and Bilbo smiled, but something in his expression seemed to make the king pause.

"I'm sorry," Thorin said softly, "I should have asked before I..." Bilbo's finger across his lips stopped him from speaking.

"It's fine, Thorin, it's actually... more than fine." The hobbit looked down on the dark head between his thighs and almost giggled at the sight, though it wasn't particularly funny... he just felt so light. "I very much like what you're doing, and I think I'd like... more than that." Thorin's face flushed but he looked pleased and skeptical at the same time. Bilbo waved a lazy hand at the expression like he imagined a bored aristocrat might do. "We can work up to it. But keep doing what you're doing, by all means." They laughed together for a shared moment that was almost painfully intimate, then without warning Thorin's finger slid around inside and found something that made the hobbit almost jump out of his own skin. "_Ah_! What are you... oh Green Lady, Thorin, yes!" A sharp grin crossed the dwarf's face and suddenly there were two fingers, hooking around to press that place that made Bilbo scream, sliding gently in and out, pads pressing in alternating sequence deep inside him. He felt it all over his body, sensation radiating out from those two fingers down his legs to his toes, out his arms, even his hair felt like it was standing on end. Suddenly, with no warning, he was coming. White streaks painted themselves over his belly and Thorin's face as his lover growled and used his tongue to clean up the mess as fast as it was made. "Wha... wha..." he tried, but words had fled along with all traces of decorum. After a moment of allowing his wits to return, the hobbit looked critically down at the column of flesh still standing proudly between his lover's muscular thighs.

Sliding down on the bed, he leaned in and grabbed with one hand, sliding the thick foreskin roughly up and bunching it, then slipping his tongue into it and savoring the taste of leaking pearls of fluid there. Let's see what I remember, Bilbo thought, and settled down to experiment. The experiment didn't go for long, however; soon Thorin was groaning loudly and Bilbo's mouth was full of slightly bitter essence of Thorin. He almost swallowed right away, but waited until he could catch Thorin's eye, then made a show of it, gulping demonstratively and licking his lips while keeping eye contact the whole while. His instinct proved correct, as Thorin's eyes darkened again almost immediately and he dragged Bilbo back up the length of his body and probed his mouth with that same tongue that had wreaked such havoc on his... the hobbit quickly turned his thoughts somewhere else. It was a lovely tongue, and he was selfishly glad Thorin had it, and that was enough. When Thorin turned on his side and wrapped himself around the hobbit before pulling the quilt over them, Bilbo thought his heart would burst from happiness.

The next morning, he woke well before Thorin. He lay in bed for a bit just watching his lover's face as he slept; Thorin's eyelashes were long and beautiful against his cheeks, and he looked so relaxed in sleep without any of the customary scowls that he seemed to find necessary for court life. After a bit, Bilbo heard the door to the Consort's Chambers (his rooms now, he reminded himself) open and then close, and the clink of a tray being deposited on the table. Once the door had sounded again, he realized that he was starving. Rather than wake Thorin with his growling stomach, he gingerly got out of bed and went to get a cup of tea and eat something. Perhaps I should bring the tray in the bedroom, he thought, that sounds nice. But a cup of tea sounds nicer. An interruption stopped him mid-pour.

Bilbo looked up from his teacup as the door crashed open, revealing an exceptionally distraught Balin carrying a parchment. "Bilbo, thank Mahal, have you seen...?" Thorin stumbled from the bedroom shirtless, wearing only the trousers he had worn the night before with Bilbo's locket shining at his throat. Balin's face fell even further. "Oh." He sat suddenly on a couch near the door, like a puppet whose strings had been abruptly cut. "Oh no." Incongruously, one of the bejeweled pins from Thorin's hair was lying in the floor almost at Balin's boot, though he seemed not to notice.

"Balin?" came Thorin's sleepy rumble. "Why are you bursting in here like a dragon? What on earth is the matter?" The old dwarf took a shuddering breath.

"I tried to stop it, Thorin. I did, but Dis told you, it was, there was nothing, Ori was drunk and Nar said and..." Balin was totally incoherent. Bilbo sat, tea forgotten, wondering what on earth could drive the old diplomat so far out of his ability to speak. 

Thorin walked over, clearly awake now, and snatched the parchment from the old dwarf's hand. He had barely looked at it before he made a sound of such fury Bilbo unthinkingly quailed in his seat. Flinging the parchment down, he glared at Balin, whose face seemed full of despair, and in an eerily conversational voice said "I'll kill them all." The king whipped around and strode back into the bedroom. Balin sat staring miserably at the floor. Bilbo stood on unsteady legs and walked over to pick up the parchment. It was an official decree, clearly, written in the runes of Daeron and presumably in Khuzdul, but with a translation into Westron provided helpfully below:

_WHEREAS: The High Council is enjoined with the protection not only of the people of Erebor, but the well-being of Erebor's King and of the Realm itself; and  
WHEREAS: The Marriage and Succession of the Line of Kings is of utmost importance to the stability and continuity of the Realm, its people, and the efforts, customs, and commerce of the dwarves thereof; and  
WHEREAS: A union with a creature not of the people of Durin would permit no offspring, encourage no trade, and offer no benefit to the realm as a whole; and  
WHEREAS: Such a union would cause substantial discord among the populace of the Realm, affect trade with neighboring nations, encourage disobedience and the breaking of customs in diverse other ways too numerous to list, damage the king's honor and provoke seditious thoughts against the monarchy and the Realm in general among the people of Erebor and elsewhere; then  
BE IT RESOLVED: by order of the unanimous High Council, speaking in one voice, that Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King of Erebor, shall terminate any courtship with non-dwarven creatures, set aside any promises made to such creatures with no loss of honor on either side, and in the fullness of time seek a mate (if desired) among the kindred of Durin. So commands the High Council.  
_

_Signed and Witnessed this day, 29th of Urmuk, First Year of the Reign of Thorin II, Oakenshield, Loremaster Imalek acting as Scribe, etc._

The signatures of the rest of the council were appended, even the shaky scrawl of General Ragni. There was a crashing from the bedroom as something broke, and Thorin made a horrible sound like a wounded animal, but all Bilbo could do is sit and stare at the parchment in his hands. 


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bilbo tries to spend the day moping, and is thwarted, but ends up meeting someone he never expected in a place he didn't know existed.

Bilbo just sat, twirling the ring on his finger that mocked him with its gentle glow. Thorin gathered his things and left, shouting angrily at the top of his lungs with Balin at his side, but Bilbo sat quietly, staring at nothing, tea going cold on the table in front of him. I should eat, he thought dully, but when his stomach cramped suddenly that no longer appealed, so he just continued to sit there. Eventually a servant returned, presumably to take the tray, but Bilbo barely noticed. He paid no attention that the servant was there making noises that never fully resolved into words, but eventually the breakfast tray and cup of cold tea were taken away and a pot of hot tea brought in their place. At one point, the hobbit looked up from the floor, wondering where his cup had gone, but it didn't matter. Nothing really mattered at this point other than the feeling of his heart breaking with each breath, like the sight of a plate breaking in a mirror, each image reflected in each, echoing off into the unimaginable distance. In spite of himself he remembered Dis, Balin, others, warning him of the Council's ability to override the king if they acted together, but he had never listened. Never had it occurred to him that something as powerful as Thorin could be overridden by... anything, really. Certainly not by a collection of smug bureaucrats.

He knew intellectually that he should get up. There might be something he could do. There might be a way to fight this ruling, to overturn this injustice. Ori would know. He should get up and see, he knew, but he was just so tired right now. He didn't particularly want to go back to bed, though; it was too far to walk. Just thinking of bed reminded him that it was just as wonderful as he had thought it would be, waking up with... the thought that he would never again be able to wake up next to Thorin was the final straw. Tears pouring down his face, the hobbit curled up into a tiny ball on the couch and sobbed brokenly for the loss of something he didn't even know he was missing until six months ago. This was the same feeling he remembered when his parents died, and he hated it but he had no ability to control his reactions. He didn't know how long he lay there, but the sound of the door opening intruded. Without looking up, he said "Go away."

Dis' voice was soft and uncharacteristically hesitant. "Master Baggins, I... oh." He looked up, furious, to see her easing herself slowly into a chair, looking at him with sympathy from too-familiar eyes that he couldn't stand to receive at the moment. "I'm so sorry, I wanted to check on you... is there..."

"I'd prefer to be alone, if you don't mind." Bilbo heard his voice mouthing the same polite phrases that he was raised to use, seeming to mock him in his pain from inside his own mind. He suddenly wanted to scream like Thorin and break things, but he was also aware that with tears and snot running down his face he was hardly threatening. Dis looked down and twisted her fingers together, heavy rings clicking as they touched. Staring at her as she sat, he was suddenly breathless with an unfamiliar rage. How dare she just walk in here after that happened, how dare she sit uninvited... how dare she not be Thorin? Gritting his teeth to keep the words he wanted to say inside, he ground out "Perhaps I was unclear. I don't require company at the moment. Please leave."

"I... yes, of course. I just thought you shouldn't be... I'm so sorry. If there's..." she stood, staring down, then turned and went to the door slowly. Opening it, she gave one last look back and stepped outside. When the door clicked shut, Bilbo fell into a new storm of weeping. He pressed his hands against his face, and the glowing ring dug into his cheekbone. The shocking feeling of loss was still present, but it had cracked open like some sort of horrible egg and now there was just pain, so much pain, like his heart had been ripped out of his body. Cursing Gandalf and Thorin and dwarves and life in general, he attempted to pour himself a cup of tea but his hand was shaking so badly the tea sloshed out on the table. Before he was even aware of it he had flung the pot the length of the room where it smashed on the wall, tea splashing down into the floor. He wanted to scream so badly he thought his throat would explode, but he feared that if he started screaming he wouldn't want to stop, so he stood up very quietly and walked into the bedroom. Taking off his clothes, he crawled back into the soft, wonderful bed which now felt like it was made of knifeblades and nettles, buried his head in the pillow that smelled like Thorin and cried himself to sleep.

Bilbo woke to the sound of Nar's voice, shocking him out of sleep. "Bilbo? Where..." then from closer, "ah, bugger." He just lay in the bed, expecting to feel angry as he had with Dis, but at least the massive Broadbeam didn't look so much like Thorin. All he felt was numb, though his head felt thick and stupid from too much sleep. Nar dragged a chair over noisily and plopped down next to the bed with a grunt. "Ori sent me to find you," he stated bluntly. "He was stuck with Thorin but he was worried, and so was I, especially when Dis said you threw her out. Not surprised at that, mind; she's a bit much even when you haven't had a bad shock." Nar scowled, long beard bristling out. Bilbo noticed that his hair was braided in a more complicated fashion than it had been on the road, but that and the absence of his axe were the only real differences, which was comforting in a strange way. "I want you to know, I tried to block that decree. I heard what they were doing, and Balin, Ori and I weren't invited, you can bet your last coin on that, but I went anyway. Ori was too drunk to move, poor lad, or he'd have gone as well, and Balin came too though he doesn't get a vote as Minister. I tried to veto it as Keeper... said I wouldn't be surprised if them opposin' the will of Mahal like that made the mountain fall in, but they ignored me. Old Imalek said I was meddlin' in things what didn't concern me. Never had much use for that pompous old prick, if you'll excuse my language."

Bilbo tried to speak, then coughed. His throat felt raw. "Thank you Nar," he managed to get out. "How is Thorin?"

Nar laughed mirthlessly. "Better than you in some ways, worse in others. Thorin's not the kind to get upset and go to bed, he goes to war. Right now he's furious as a dragon with a sore tooth. He's already had old Vur practically dragged to his chambers, ordered a full review of the Guild account books for Provisioning and for Building, and dug through the council minutes for the past year or two to see if there's some way he can put the screws to the Scriptorium. Balin had to talk him out of challenging Irin to a duel, but I think he only went for Irin because he couldn't challenge Imalek. I think he's broken about half his furniture, " Nar gave a lopsided grin, "though I see you're down a teapot as well. Right now he's been holed up for over an hour with Ori, trying to come up with some sort of loophole to marry you in spite of them."

Bilbo hated the feeling of hope that went through him at this, but asked anyway. "Does Ori think there's any way to overturn it or do anything to change it?"

"You'll need to speak to him on that. Honestly, all that business of stories and interpretations and legal arguments makes my head hurt and that's a fact. I don't know much about such things. What I know about is stone, and stone doesn't lie. It tells you straight, what it likes and what it doesn't, what can move and what can't, unless you want a giant bloody heap of rubble on your head. And what I know about you is that you're one of those bits that shouldn't be moved or else it's all going to fall down around our ears, but I can't get them to listen. I don't have some fancy story to tell, though, and I can't do a long _fahanon_ about what I know, so nobody wants to listen to me about anything other than where to dig." He huffed in irritation. "Doesn't make it any less true."

Unaccountably touched, Bilbo was surprised to feel the urge to get up. He still felt like an open wound, but he also wanted to do something, anything to help if there was a way to oppose the councilors on this. Clambering out of bed, it wasn't until he heard Nar's snort of amusement that he remembered undressing before getting under the quilts. He was standing in the middle of his room in nothing but his smallclothes. He flushed but went over and dressed himself anyway. What difference does it make, he thought bitterly. I'd give up any modesty I had left if I could just... feeling another attack of tears coming on, he forced his mind to think about something else. "Would you take me to them, Nar? I want to see if I can help." Nar glanced back over at him once he was dressed, but pulled a face and ran his hand across his neck.

"I'm... not sure that's a good idea right now, Bilbo, to tell you the truth. Thorin is calm-ish, you understand, but not calm. Seeing you might be a problem, and I'd hate to see him to take the Axe to the High Council. No matter how much they might deserve it." The burly dwarf thought for a moment. "There's something I wanted to show you, though, if you're up for it. Thorin wanted to keep it a secret, but I somehow have a feeling it will aid you to see it."

"Does it involve leaving this room?" Bilbo said morosely. His earlier surge of energy had mostly passed at the news that Nar wouldn't take him to Thorin. "I'm not sure I'm up to going anywhere else."

"It's outside the gates completely, now you mention it," Nar said with a smile. "Bit o' sun might do you good." The last thing Bilbo wanted was to walk a long distance, but the thought of seeing the actual sun again was compelling. Common sense told him that he could be broken-hearted as easily outside as in, though his misery urged him to stay in the room. Sighing, he acquiesced.

"Why not," he mumbled. "If Thorin doesn't want to see me, it doesn't matter where I go I suppose." Nar grimaced and shook his head.

"I'll not listen to that sort of horseshit, if you'll pardon me for sayin' so. Thorin loves you like rock loves gems, and no piece of paper from a bunch of old busybodies is going to change that. He loves you as much as you love him, and this will work out, wait and see." Nar looked him up and down with a critical eye. "Now stop mopin' about and come along." Bilbo remembered this time to tell a servant to notify Thorin that he had left with Nar and then they went down into the city. Traveling with Nar was never dull; going through Erebor with him reminded Bilbo of the night Ori had left Nar in charge of him when the king died. The stocky dwarf seemed to know and take the quickest path from point to point within the city, whether that path was a wide, well-lit paved street or a narrow, dark, dusty hallway hidden in the stone. They stopped off briefly at Nar's house for him to get his axe, but reached the Great Market in half the time it had taken Bilbo and Ori to do so.

No sooner had Bilbo stepped into the market than a crowd gathered. He was uncomfortable but Nar didn't seem upset, and almost immediately an older dwarf with white-streaked auburn colored hair and a long, elaborately plaited beard stepped up and spoke. "Master Baggins, Urn son of Vurn at your service," he said, and bowed deeply. "It is not my wish to inconvenience or delay you, but I wish you to know that we are all in debt to you for your actions. You found the Dragon Crown and the Axe of Dain for us, and we will honor you as Consort." The other dwarves standing around nodded and murmured in agreement. Nar laid a cautionary hand on Bilbo's arm, but he felt deeply moved.

"Bilbo Baggins at yours, Master Urn, and I thank you for your kind words. I wish only the best for Erebor and the dwarves who live here, and am delighted to have been of service." And with that the crowd dispersed, smiling and nodding, dwarves moving back to their stalls and their shopping with occasional comments of 'well said' and the like. Nar grinned over at him.

"Quite the politician, Bilbo! That was well done indeed." 

"It's obvious word hasn't reached them," Bilbo said, "and I have to believe that Ori and Thorin will think of something." He felt his throat start to close as tears welled up, and he choked out "I have to." Nar's hand was a comfort on his shoulder, and they passed under the shadow of the massive statue of Mahal and headed to the gates. Bilbo stopped for a moment as the passed near the great anvil and just looked up at the implacable dwarven face, holding the hammer high above the shape on the anvil. Nar saw Bilbo's expression and stopped without a word. _Mahal, Aule, Great Smith of my childhood stories_, he prayed, _please let Thorin come back to me. Please let this work out. If you truly mean for me to marry one of your children, please help_. The agony of his broken heart washed through him so strongly he almost fell. Suddenly, someone dropped something heavy nearby and the ringing clang of metal on stone echoed through the market. At the sound Bilbo startled and blinked tears from suddenly wet eyes, but then nodded and Nar moved on wordlessly. It was probably happenstance, the hobbit thought, but at this point I'll take all the hope I can get. As they passed through the gates, Nar's considering look was heavy on Bilbo but he didn't give any answer to the hobbit's inquisitive look. After so many days indoors, the hobbit thought the sunlight was like a blessing of its own.

They took a small trail off to the side of the gates which soon turned sharply upwards. The gentle breeze was almost shocking after spending so much time in the still air inside the mountain. Bilbo looked inquisitively at Nar, and he grinned. "Sorry, bit of a climb. The goal is to get a stair cut for access but we haven't done it yet."

"Access to what?" the hobbit puffed out, a bit winded after being inside for weeks.

"You'll see," was the cryptic response. After about ten minutes of further climbing, they came out onto a broad flat area, paths marked out on the recently cleared ground with strings and the churned earth all around looking recently disturbed. A lone old oak tree stood to one side with bare branches but there had clearly been a lot of brush and scrub removed very recently, as small stumps were everywhere. A few elves were visible in the garb of the Greenwood, talking and working. In the middle of the space was a circle of flagstones and on it stood a tall statue of a vaguely elvish looking woman carved in pale stone, wearing a dress made of flowers with her arms raised in benediction towards the mountain. Grain and foods were carved at her feet, and she was smiling. Bilbo felt his heart leap at the sight. There was a wisp of magic around, but it didn't seem centered anywhere in particular... like a scent, it was just carried on the breeze.

"Nar, what..." he looked around in amazement. The burly dwarf grinned behind his beard.

"When the troops went back to Greenwood, they told the elf-king Thrain had passed, and Thorin was king. He sent this statue as his gift to the coronation, but this is your garden that you asked for, lad. It's just a work in progress, that's all. We picked the spot the day after you were attacked." Nar looked out at the work being done. "Thorin wanted to wait and show it to you when it was further along, but I felt like you needed it today. Show you some of the good you've done already and remind you why those dwarves you met in there love you."

Bilbo wandered into the future garden in amazement, seeing the pattern laid out in the sinuous walkways leading inwards to the statue. The _tink-tink_ of metal on stone was heard, and dwarves were visible carving a niche and statue into the living stone of the mountain at the back of the garden. As he stood, the elves looked up and saw him and smiled at him, nodding their heads in respect. He roamed the perimeter of the space and temporarily forgot to be heartsick, so swept up was he in the vision of what the gardens might one day be. Nar watched from the stairs, smiling but leaving him to explore on his own. Finally he ended up in the center again and looked up at the face of the statue. She was so beautiful, he marveled, this must be what the Green Lady actually looks like. Before he thought about it, he went down on both knees in front of her and closed his eyes. _Green Lady of my people_, he prayed, _I hope you like these gardens. Please help me get Thorin back. I didn't know I even wanted him the last time I was at your shrine, but I can't live without him. Please_. He almost started promising offerings, but he had always thought it was ridiculous to try to bargain with the Green Lady like she was some sort of merchant. He made a note that he needed to use Bombur's kitchens to cook her something, but thinking of Thorin made the tears well up again. He had put them off one too many times, it seemed, because tears ran down his face like rain and dripped onto the stone. All he could think was _please, please_ as he cried. When he realized Nar was probably watching him and worried, he wiped his face and tried to compose himself. At the statues feet, a tiny patch of brilliant white flowers blossomed through the flagstones, and he felt oddly comforted. Suddenly a sense of powerful magic rolled around him like a wave, and he struggled to his feet.

When he turned, an elf was standing there smiling. He had the Sindar coloring, pale skin and long golden hair waving gently in the breeze, but his eyes... Bilbo thought he had never seen eyes like that on anyone. The elf's power was like a mountain, cool and still, but massive, immovable, and Bilbo was bowing before he even thought about it. The elf laughed delightedly, but reached out to stop Bilbo, and the touch of his hand was as overwhelming as it had been to pick up the Axe of Dain. "No need, Master Hobbit, no need," he said in a pleasant tenor voice, "I apologize for disturbing your meditations, but when they told me you were here, I had to meet the one who commissioned the first shrine to Yavanna in a dwarven citadel in three thousand years." His eyes twinkled, and Bilbo suddenly was reminded of Gandalf, though the elf looked nothing like him at all.

"I... good heavens. Bilbo Baggins, at your service, Master Elf! I'm honored, really, I can't imagine why anyone would want to meet me, I'm..." More elvish laughter cut him off mid-sentence.

"Can you not? Well, perhaps I might explain, then. I apologize if I startled you. I am Glorfindel, currently of Rivendell, but I came from the Forest Halls of Thranduil when I heard of this errand as I was there on business." Bilbo almost fell down in shock.

"You are... oh dear. Oh my. Oh. Oh! You're... not the Glorfindel of Gondolin who came twice from the West! Not the one who killed a balrog to save Tuor son of Huor, who... oh goodness!" He would have bowed again, even thrown himself on the ground, but he was stayed by the elf's hand.

"My apologies again, I hadn't realized you were so versed in history. But that is all these deeds are, ancient history, gone and mostly forgotten. But you, Master Baggins, you are the Bilbo Baggins who left your home solely to help others without payment or complaint, who found Turgon's sword Glamdring in a hole in the moors, who discovered the long-lost Axe of Dain in a forgotten cave, who fought a Shadow of the Void in a ruin to recover the lost crown of Nogrod, who spent a boon from an elf-king on a shrine to a Vala instead of personal gain... and these are deeds of the past year, not the past five thousand. It is I who should be bowing to you." Bilbo spluttered for a moment before recognizing the teasing tone for what it was.

"I didn't fight anything, my lord," the hobbit said quickly, "Thorin fought it, and we'd all have died without him. He's the real hero in this story." Glorfindel smiled but shook his head.

"There can be more than one hero in a story, Master Baggins. I suspect that had King Thorin not had the two specific items that you found for him, and brought to him, and gave into his hands at the right time, that he would have died along with his entire party, and Erebor would now be either locked in civil war or ruled by someone far less able or inclined to withstand the darkness that comes. Your actions have already made more of a difference than you know. You have turned the future of the world for the better." The elf's face was solemn, and he practically glowed in the sunlight with magic. Bilbo resisted the urge to cover his eyes, but could feel the headache he always felt near Gandalf from the sheer presence of this ancient, powerful being. "Forgive me if I intrude in matters which do not concern me, but your heart is writ upon your face, and its words do not seem happy. Is aught amiss?" Before he knew it, Bilbo was amazed to find himself confessing the whole story of his romance with Thorin to a total stranger, including his fears and self-doubts. Later he wondered if he had been enchanted, but Glorfindel's eyes had showed such deep love and compassion he couldn't resist speaking. Nar, after determining that Bilbo was safe, sat down out of earshot against the huge oak and fell asleep in a patch of sunlight.

"... and this morning, only a day after we were finally betrothed, we awoke to an order of the High Council demanding that Thorin break off our betrothal." Bilbo sniffled a bit at the memory. "I never thought I would have love. But now that I have found it... I can't imagine life without it. Without Thorin." He stared at the elf with huge, liquid eyes, tears welling up again. "My lord, what am I to do?" Glorfindel sighed, and for the first time Bilbo saw a hint of his age in his face.

"Master Baggins... Bilbo, if I may... I cannot tell you for certain. I do not know, but I suspect that what passes here with you and these dwarves has deep roots and far branches, and what comes of this will have greater implications than even the wise may know. I say to you now, though, do not despair. For if this were the end of the story, a sorry reward it would be indeed for one who has given so much and asked for so little, yet I do not think your role in this is even close to done. Eru's gifts are many, but love is perhaps the greatest of them, and in your story I have heard others of them named as well... joy, compassion, selflessness, gratitude. You are not just an instrument of noble acts, you are yourself a noble being, and it is an unfortunate truth that the noble beings of this world are gifted with great joys, but they are also subject to great sorrows. For what it is worth, though, I do not see a sorrowful end for you, Master Baggins. Your heart is pure, and Yavanna will be proud of your deeds when you finally meet." Bilbo wondered at this last sentence, before he realized that it meant when he died. Before he could ask about that, though, he remembered that Glorfindel had lived among the Valar himself, and he had to ask.

"Have... you actually met the Green Lady, didn't you?" Glorfindel laughed again, and this was a high and joyous laugh.

"I did, yes, and this image above us is an excellent rendering of her, at least at times." He smiled again, eyes twinkling and hair flowing in the wind. "The Valar are great and powerful, but they are not exactly gods, Bilbo. You know this, but your heart doesn't always believe it. Still, she would be honored by your shrine, I am quite sure."

"I'm sorry, but I have to ask... have you been in the Great Market inside the gates? Is that... does that statue resemble Aule?" Bilbo blushed and looked down. "It's just... Thorin would want to know."

Glorfindel shook his head ruefully. "I have not been, though I may yet pass within at some point. I do not care to be under stone if I can help it, and entering the mountain halls of the _Gonnhirrim_ would be a challenge even if I weren't so averse to enclosed places. They are so... deep." Bilbo couldn't imagine an elf so powerful being discomfited by anything, but he supposed everyone has things they dislike.

"I understand, and you must of course do as you see fit. I do wish you could see them, though... they are quite amazing, and surprisingly beautiful. It is much more open than anyone would ever think, especially there at the market, and the lamps are everywhere and so very bright, and there's all kinds of wondrous things for sale there, and the sounds... oh it's really..." Bilbo flushed as he realized he was babbling just as Glorfindel gave another of those joyful laughs.

"I see they have made a partisan of you already! Well, as I said, I may yet. For now, though, I must bid you farewell. I have more to do here, and Rivendell calls me. I came only to see you, Master Baggins, and now that I have seen you, I understand a bit more. Keep a strong heart, and have faith! For this coil is far from ended. Remember the lesson of Earendur, for the thing which bound him may yet save you." Glorfindel smiled softly, and his light seemed to touch Bilbo for a moment as well.

"If you do come inside, please, I beg you, send for me that I might come and meet you. I would love for you to meet Thorin as well. You could, I don't know, compare techniques on monster fighting or something," Bilbo said, feeling foolish but unable to stop himself. "It's just that... you are so joyful, and he so needs joy right now." The elf nodded solemnly.

"I would enjoy meeting him also. And I thank you for the compliment; if I could bring joy to the whole world, I would do so. No soul deserves to suffer, and certainly not that of one noble enough to win the love of such as you." He bowed to Bilbo, and the hobbit was immediately embarrassed. "Be well, Bilbo Baggins, be blessed, and may you find peace in this matter and joy in the end. Farewell!" And with that, the elf strode off at a deceptive pace, seeming to walk normally but almost evaporating into thin air in front of the hobbit's astonished eyes.

"Who was that?" Nar asked as soon as Bilbo had rejoined him, and so he began to tell the Stonekeeper the story of Glorfindel as they made their way back down the slope in the evening light toward the gates.


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bilbo has a necessary talk with Thorin, hears of Ori's discoveries, and understands Glorfindel's words to him before having to undergo public humiliation.

No sooner had Bilbo and Nar passed through the gate than the guard said simply, "Messenger came a bit ago; the king wants you both. Might want to hurry." The guard looked at them both significantly. They glanced at each other and sped up. Nar made his usual roundabout through the hidden passages of the mountains, getting Bilbo to the Royal Quarters faster than anyone would have believed. Before they entered, Bilbo had to ask. "Nar, how do you know to take all these back ways? Is it from some stone sense that you have? If so, can I learn it?"

Nar laughed and got a contemplative look. "Well... hm. That's a fair question. For one thing, I've lived in this mountain since I was a wee lad, so I know my way around. I was a nosy child and had to know where everything went, so that's part of it. But aye, now that you mention it, there's a sense I always follow of just... the quickest way. I don't know if you could learn it or not, but we'll try sometime." He grinned. "Sometime when Thorin isn't breathin' fire, how about?"

"I'd like that," Bilbo said, and they went to Thorin's rooms. He still hadn't moved to the King's Quarters, even though it had been weeks since his father's body had been interred with full ceremonies; Bilbo suspected they were too thick with memories. They knocked and went in to the sight of Thorin in a full rage, storming around the room in front of Ori and Dis. Balin was huddled miserably in the corner.

"Find it, then! There has to be a way! We were talking not two months ago about how everything can be worked around in dwarven law, and I'll skate across the law by a hair's width if I have to on this! Not only will I not let those old fools win on this sort of power play, I will marry Bilbo Baggins if I have to abdicate the throne to..." he looked up and saw them standing in the doorway and turned on them, face flushed and eyes snapping. "Speaking of Bilbo Baggins, who seems destined to always be out in the city when I need to see him, I suppose it's..." Seeing Thorin had already taken the air out of his lungs. Bilbo thought he was calmer until he laid eyes on his beloved, but even angry, the sight of him was like a knife in the gut. The further shock of being greeted by harsh words when Thorin had been away all day and Bilbo had spent the day crying was too much by any reasonable measure. He promptly burst into tears, turned in the door and fled to his rooms. The sound of Dis' cursing followed him down the hall until his door had shut. Thankfully the thick slab of balanced stone blocked out all noise, and he threw himself into the couch near the roaring fireplace, tears streaming down his face. Thorin's shouting brought back all of his fears; the dwarf was using him, this wasn't real, this was all just some sort of... ridiculous something... he didn't even know what. Bilbo knew he was being foolish, but he couldn't stand being spoken to like that by someone who had somehow become the linchpin of his heart. A linchpin that had been carelessly removed, leaving everything to fall apart. The sound of the door opening made him hunch into himself even further. If it's Dis, the hobbit thought, I may very well throw her in the fireplace.

"_Azyungel, ghivashel_, I am so sorry..." Looking up through his tears, Thorin stood there crying as well. He looked... broken, Bilbo thought. "I didn't mean any of it, I..." Bilbo reached out his arms, and Thorin sank into the couch too, wrapping himself around Bilbo and sighing deeply. Balin had come in behind Thorin and cleared his throat, but Thorin looked up with eyes as close to madness as Bilbo had ever seen. When he spoke, it was the same eerily calm voice he had used that morning, the same that Bilbo now remembered from when he had confronted Vekkad. "Balin, if you say one word, _one single word_, about propriety or chaperoning or anything else, I will shave your beard myself. Get out." The old dwarf looked like he wanted to argue, but hung his head and left, closing the door behind himself.

"Thorin," Bilbo said, sniffling a bit, "that was uncalled for. You know I love you, but you must learn to control your temper. You say awful things when you are angry, and they hurt people." The king hung his head.

"I know," was his only response. Bilbo brushed his fingers over the tear-tracks on his lover's face and felt his eyes well up again. Leaning in, he buried his nose in the long hair, desperate for the smell of Thorin. He heard his lover's rumbling voice say "I'm sorry I shouted, _azyungel_."

"I can't take being shouted at, especially not after the day I've had, Thorin. The day we've had." The hobbit smoothed his fingers through the king's hair, calming them both. After a moment, he continued. "I will ask Ori for the specifics, but... did you find anything? You didn't, did you." It wasn't really a question. Thorin's tirade as they entered the room told Bilbo what he needed to know, not to mention the hangdog expressions on the faces in the room.

"No." The king growled with his eyes closed. "Imalek is nothing if not thorough; I'll give him that much, even if I end up having to have him killed. When he does something, he does it right. He filed a complicated argument citing every precedent in the world before he wrote that document. Some of the stories he referenced even Ori doesn't know. He's been working on this for a while, it would seem."

Bilbo's head spun. It didn't make any sense. Finally he stammered, "But why? Why does he hate me so much? What did I do...?" Thorin opened his eyes and pinned Bilbo to his chair with the earnestness in them.

"It's not you, my heart. Imalek is a bitter old dwarf who sees everything in terms of the past. Nothing can exist unless it's existed before, nothing new can be allowed to appear, because it might lead to change, and change is dangerous. He comes from a family that was very wealthy and powerful in Khazad-Dum. When Durin's Bane came, they lost everything. When my namesake went north to begin Sarkhubuland, his family went and rebuilt their fortunes, then lost it all again when the dragon came. Imalek is brilliant, but he's trapped in his stories, Bilbo... he can't see that the world is bigger than his books. Since a dwarf has never loved a hobbit, a dwarf can never love a hobbit, and a king least of all because what the king does, others might do. Vekkad hated you because you weren't a dwarf, and there are many Firebeards here who I'm sure feel the same. Imalek doesn't care specifically that you aren't a dwarf, he just hates that you're different. He'd be just as opposed if you were an Ironfist slave, and they're dwarves." Thorin shook his head sadly. "But if I have to give up the throne, I..." Bilbo interrupted him, giving Thorin a furious look.

"Don't be ridiculous." The hobbit glared at Thorin. "You will do no such thing, Thorin Oakenshield. You are the king that Erebor needs, and even if my heart has to break into a thousand shards, you must be king here. Dis can't, her sons are too young, and there's nobody else." He took a deep breath. "I can't... imagine a world where I've lost you, my love. But I also can't imagine a world where you aren't the king and hero you were born to be, and that you need to be." Just saying it aloud was like ripping a bandage off a wound, but he knew that it was the right answer. In the privacy of his own mind, Bilbo thought 'and if I die of grief from it, so be it', but he chose not to say that part aloud.

"Bilbo..." Thorin's face looked stricken. "I can't imagine a life for myself without you in it." He leaned in and pressed his lips to Bilbo's and the hobbit was lost completely. In a frenzy, he was wrapped around his dwarf, kissing him fiercely. Bilbo fought his hands that were determined to wander into Thorin's clothes; he wanted to feel the flesh whose heat radiated through the king's garments. He wanted to run his fingers through the tangle of hair on his beloved's chest, feel muscles pressed against him, revisit all of the places from the night before that he found interesting and find more besides. At the same time, he knew that to do so would be to taint himself in the eyes of all the dwarves and even further damage his standing in the mountain if they did somehow manage to marry in spite of the High Council's prohibition. Pulling back a bit, he gasped for air.

"Let's..." he said in a high-pitched, whining voice he barely recognized as his own, "let's go talk to Ori. I want to hear what he's found." Thorin looked at him in frustration through heavy-lidded, lust-blown eyes, but slowly nodded.

"Yes. That's... probably better. I want to stay here and... But you're right." He exhaled in a shuddering gust, sitting up and straightening his clothes. Bilbo smoothed his own hair down, feeling stupid and foolish to waste what might be his last chance to be alone with Thorin for... his mind refused to complete the sentence. They stepped through the door and almost walked into Balin, who was pacing up and down in the hall with a frantic expression. When he saw them, he looked like he could fall over in relief. Glaring at him, Thorin simply said "Nothing happened," and moved towards his own rooms, leaving the other two to catch up.

Ori was sitting with a dejected look on his face when they reached Thorin's rooms, reading a heavy book and making notes beside it with a quill. He glanced up as Thorin came in, then set the quill down and stood when Bilbo entered as well. "Bilbo," he began in a worried voice, "I'm so sorry this is..."

"Not a word about it," came the hobbit's brusque reply. "You are responsible for none of it, and I'll not have you apologizing for things you didn't do. Tell me what you've found so far, please." Ori's grateful smile was tinged with worry, but it was still a smile.

"It's... not good, I'm afraid. Imalek is one of the finest scholars we've had in generations; his knowledge of the lore is encyclopedic, and he... well, anyway." Ori broke off at the sight of Thorin's thunderous expression. "I don't see any way we can challenge his reasoning directly, which leaves us having to prove the decree invalid somehow. We could claim that it was damaging to the honor of the king, except that he specifically noted 'with no loss of honor on either side', which was a clever way around that objection. Obviously it doesn't endanger the life of the king, which is the other thing that can invalidate a single-voice ruling of the High Council." Ori paused, and Bilbo wanted to make sure he understood correctly.

"So the only two ways to overturn this sort of thing are if it endangers the honor or life of the king?" Ori nodded earnestly.

"Yes, exactly. If the notation about honor wasn't included, then we could have claimed that to break a betrothal agreed to by both parties shamed the king; since the honor of the king is the honor of the kingdom, that's forbidden for the Council to do, and directly violates their mandate of doing good for the kingdom. If the marriage was to save the king's life, and he was shown to be in mortal danger without it, then we could make the same argument. Nar tried that I'm told, attempting to use the Stonekeeper's veto. It was brave, if not particularly well thought out." Ori's smile was rueful.

"Does depriving a dwarf of their One not..." Ori was already shaking his head, though his expression was sad.

"No. Being kept from your One is emotionally painful, but not physically dangerous." He sighed. "There are rulings about how dwarves are almost always allowed to pursue courtship when their One is identified, but unfortunately, it explicitly doesn't apply to kings and direct heirs of the throne. The good of the kingdom must always be paramount." Thorin cursed softly, though Bilbo was sure that he had heard this point made several times over the course of the day already. Ori's face flickered with alarm. "It isn't physically harmful to hobbits, is it?"

Bilbo chuckled humorlessly. "No, not physically. We don't have Ones, as far as I've ever heard; I think I'm the only hobbit to love a dwarf, like I am with stone sense and the rest. I do understand the emotional pain, though," he said, looking sadly at Thorin. "So... if we aren't able to overturn it, or get around it... what happens?"

Ori's face was grave. "The king will have to release you in public, like all the other courting ceremonies. It will have to be done the next time he holds open court in front of, well, everyone, including the High Council and anyone who shows up with a petition." Thorin hid his face in his hands, and Bilbo felt a fist clench around his heart. Not only did he lose Thorin, it seemed he would lose him publicly so he wasn't even allowed to weep. Worse yet, Ori wasn't done. In a soft voice, he said "The next open court is in two days. Tomorrow Thorin has to receive gifts that were sent to mark his coronation, and the next day... he has his first public court." Bilbo's face crumpled. "I'm sorry, Bilbo," he heard as tears ran down his face. Shaking, he tried to rally his thoughts.

"So..." the hobbit sniffled a bit, trying to collect himself, "if Thorin breaks off the courtship, are we permitted to begin again? I mean, assuming that the decree can eventually be overturned." Ori looked thoughtful.

"That's an interesting question, and something that will take some research. It's not unheard of for courtships to be started again, so that wouldn't be a problem. Veki began his courtship five times in the story of Veki and Vilda, so it would be hard to dispute the right. You'd have to go through the whole process again, of course, but unless there's been a significant change among the seven, you'll just end up back in the same situation you're in now. I know Ragni can't be around much longer, so it's possible that the new Lord of War would be less amenable to such direct action against the king. Depending on the results of the review of the finances of Provisions and Building, it's not impossible that their Lords could change as well. Now that I think about it, it's entirely possible that you could begin courting again in ten years or so, maybe even sooner." Ori smiled in relief. "Well thought to ask that, I hadn't gotten that far. That's certainly an answer."

"Ten _years_?!" Bilbo shouted, aghast. "I can't wait ten years, are you mad? I..." Thorin moved over and put his arm around Bilbo, leaning in to calm him. The hobbit visibly bit his tongue and tried again. "Ori, I'm hardly a young hobbit as it is. Another ten years is a substantial amount of my life to wait." The Chamberlain looked confused for a moment, then frowned in comprehension.

"Ah." At a momentary loss for words, the young Scribe looked uncomfortable. "It's not impossible for a ruling to be revoked when the Council changes members, but... it's only happened twice in all of history. I don't think we'd be able to talk them into such a thing, even if there were new office holders from the Guilds. It would be considered disrespectful," he explained helpfully. Disrespectful, Bilbo thought viciously. Right.

Not trusting himself to stay civil much longer, Bilbo simply said "Please keep researching. I'm afraid I don't know your stories, so I'm of no use here, but if you need me at any hour of day or night for something, I will be in my chambers." Ori nodded and pressed Bilbo's hand, looking distraught.

"Be strong, Bilbo. We'll find a way through this somehow," the young dwarf said. The hobbit leaned over to kiss Thorin, but remembered just in time and turned it into an awkward embrace, causing Balin to sigh and Thorin to fume. As he went out the door, Ori started reading again and this time talking about his findings in Khuzdul. Bilbo's last sight of Thorin was yearning blue eyes watching him as he closed the door.

When he got back to his chambers, Bilbo grimaced in fury. Ori could very well talk about how it would all turn out well, it wasn't his beloved being ripped away! Now that he thought about it, Glorfindel had said practically the same thing, but it was funny how everyone who didn't have any useful advice was still sure everything would work out. Infuriating, he thought. All Ori can offer me is stories about how clever Imalek is, and Glorfindel... his mind went back to his conversation with the ancient elf as he prepared for bed. What had he said? The lesson of Earendur? What on earth did a king of Arnor have to do with anything? He knew that Earendur was the last king of the unified realm of Arnor, and that his three sons split the realm three ways, but what did Glorfindel mean by 'what bound him'? He felt like there was something just out of reach of his thoughts, but it eluded him. Sighing, he went to bed.

It was not a restful night. Tossing and turning, more than once waking in tears with his face pressed into Thorin's pillow, Bilbo felt beaten down and wracked with misery, although he managed to choke down some food from the meals that were delivered. He spent the day in restless anxiety, hoping and praying that Ori would come in or send for him to say he had found a way out, but only Nar came to visit and talk a bit. By the time the day was at an end, Bilbo was half-mad with worry, but by dinnertime he had remembered the full story of Earendur. He had been the king who built Fornost, and a stranger came from nowhere and saved his life in battle. He granted the stranger a boon, and the stranger demanded that Earendur make him his heir. He refused, and the second boon the stranger asked was that Earendur let him fight each of his sons for the throne. That boon was denied too, and because of the failed boon Earendur died honorless in disgrace; his sons split the realm three ways, eventually causing the downfall of the northern kingdom. The suspicion of historians was that the stranger was an early agent of the Witch King, asking for impossible things in order to destroy the kingdom. What about that was even vaguely relevant, Bilbo wondered, turning the story over and over in his mind. Surely Glorfindel wouldn't waste his time, but... he finally gave up. The next day was the end, he thought sadly. I may die of this. Pressing himself firmly into the pillow to try to savor the last bits of Thorin's smell, he cried himself to sleep.

When he woke, he dressed in his fine court garments that Dis had commissioned for Thorin's crowning; the coronation seemed like ages ago even though it was mere days. In that time, he thought, I have gained and lost so much, I may never be the same. Nar and Ori both came to get him, and Bilbo almost broke down at the looks on their faces. They looked like they were walking him to an execution. Not far off, he acknowledged. My heart will be dead at the end of this day, if not my body. As he stepped out of his room, he kept puzzling over the story Glorfindel had recommended. As they passed through the doors of the throne room and saw the huge crowd gathered there, Bilbo almost stumbled. In a flash, he suddenly thought he might see how the story was relevant... He hoped. Murmuring the first of many prayers, he watched as Nar and Ori moved into their positions, and the drum sounded to signal the opening of the first court of Thorin's reign. This would either go very well or very, very badly.

Thorin sat in state upon the high stone throne, face shadowed by the wings of the Raven Crown. Rich blue robes enfolded him, covered in beautiful damasks and embroidered golden knotwork, and yet he looked grey, pale, and almost dead of misery. Bilbo gazed sadly at him and wanted to cry at the look on his beloved's face. At the side of the king in the Minister's spot, Balin stood, looking almost as miserable as Thorin. Behind the throne, the High Council was arrayed, and Bilbo couldn't remember ever standing in front of a group of such unfriendly faces in his life. Nar glowered thunderously from one side at the assembled councilors, but nobody seemed to notice or care. The crowd of dwarves behind the hobbit was full of murmurs, but he couldn't make out the words; they were probably speaking Khuzdul anyway, he thought bitterly. Bilbo knew what was coming, shame and sadness burning in his veins, but he had to be strong and he knew it. If even one tear escaped, he would dissolve where he stood, and the guards would have to carry him away. Ori was sitting to one side with a calm face, but his eyes when they met Bilbo's were full of tears. The breath seemed to catch in the king's throat, and he coughed to clear his voice. Finally, Thorin spoke, the usually clear baritone voice sounding hoarse and creaky.

"Bilbo Baggins, son of Bungo Baggins of the Shire, step forward," he said, then stopped and closed his eyes. Bilbo stepped up, feeling every eye on him. His knees felt like they were about to give way and he continued to chant to himself _be strong, be strong, be strong_. Balin patted the king on the shoulder, and Thorin seemed to shrink into himself, but continued in a low voice. "The High Council has spoken with one voice, and I must hear its words. I must..." he paused again, looking down at his hands. "I must set you aside. I release you from our courtship. Our betrothal is ended, though your courting gifts I give to you outright. I, Thorin..." he choked for a moment, "... son of Thrain, son of Thror, of the line of Durin, say this." A shocked murmur went through the room, and several of the councilors looked smug. If Thorin's complexion had looked bad before, now he truly looked dead. His skin was lined and grey, even the normally piercing blue eyes seemed dull and sunken like a man in the grips of a terrible illness, silver-streaked black hair hanging limp and lifeless about a face like a waxen mask. Just for a moment, Bilbo thought 'I cannot bear this'. All he wanted was to run away from this horrible mountain and these horrible dwarves and escape to somewhere this pain wasn't... but if you run, there's no Thorin, he thought grimly to himself. Bilbo bowed his head and just focused on breathing, but he didn't step back. The king gave a shuddering sigh and said "Let it be recorded."

Ori said softly "It is heard and written." The young Chamberlain sounded like he was choking, but his pen moved surely across the parchment before him.

The guard nudged Bilbo again from the side, urging him backwards to make way for the next petitioner, but the hobbit didn't move. He thought through his idea and remembered his lessons from Balin. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, he thought to himself. Really, how could any outcome be worse than this? "King Thorin," he said, and he was amazed to hear his own voice sound clear. Thorin looked up, shocked, and when those sorrowful blue eyes met Bilbo's, they almost undid the hobbit where he stood but he pressed on. "You have wronged me, I fear. You have ended our courtship at the command of the High Council, as you must; I do not blame you for that. My heart is shattered, but that is not the Council's concern. Still, I would remind you that all the other companions received a boon of you for their service, yet I, who found you the Axe of Dain, who brought you the Dragon Crown, who gave up his own first courting gift to gain you a stronger alliance with the elves... I did not." Another murmur swept the court. There were expressions of distaste, but also grudging nods among the councilors and others assembled behind Thorin. Nothing appealed to a dwarven heart more than fairness. The king sighed miserably, clearly wanting to be done with this process but finally nodded, mouth firming behind the short black beard.

"As you say," Thorin said, still in a voice like death. "This was unfair indeed. I grant you a boon, _azyungel_, as I did all of our other companions," a roar went up in the court at his use of such a term for someone that he had just broken a courtship with, but he raised his voice over the sound and completed the ritual formula. "Save only my life and my throne, ask what you will and it shall be yours." Bilbo took a deep breath. He was gambling his entire life and happiness on his feeble understanding of the most confusing culture he had ever heard of, but it was the only way forward.

"Then this is the boon I ask... give me the Axe of Dain." He said. If a roar had gone up when Thorin called him by a lover's name, the sound that the court produced now was deafening. Thorin's brows drew down in confusion, and even Ori's face was a mask of disbelief. Balin looked shocked and confused, and the councilors all looked like they were ready to attack him on the spot, even dotty old Ragni. Only Nar didn't react; his face was set, but he was watching Bilbo with interest, as though trying to figure out what the hobbit was doing.

"Impossible," Thorin ground out. "Why would you ask this, Bilbo? You cannot even wield it, you are not of the line of Durin! It would burn your hands to ash!" A chorus of grumbling filled the hall, and only the threatening presence of the royal guards kept fistfights from breaking out. One burly guard restrained a slight-built Firebeard who seemed determined to attack the hobbit where he stood.

"Nevertheless," Bilbo said, "that is the boon I desire." He took another deep breath and tried to still the trembling of his knees which threatened to pitch him to the floor. "You said anything but your throne or your life, and what I have asked is neither. Do you refuse my request?" Thorin looked at him narrowly, and his expression was reflected with even more suspicion on the faces of some of the councilors (the ones who weren't still incandescent with rage at the temerity of a hobbit asking for such a prize, at any rate). _Please let this work_, the hobbit prayed. _Green Lady Yavanna, Great Smith Aule, Mahal, everyone, anyone, please let this work_. On the throne, Thorin opened then closed his mouth, seeming to consider, but finally nodded heavily.

"I must refuse it," he said. "I cannot honor that request, and you well know it. Ask again." Nar was looking at Bilbo closely, and Ori suddenly gasped, then clapped his hand over his mouth. The hobbit hoped nobody else saw where he was going with this, but knew he had to act quickly. Bilbo tried to remember the formulas he had read in the histories. Time to throw the dice for once and all.

"Thorin Oakenshield, King of Erebor, you have granted me a boon but yet denied me what I asked. The second asking you must give, lest your honor and even your life be forfeit." Thorin nodded, looking bleak but determined. Ori was staring at Bilbo, his whole body one knot of tension but a hopeful expression on his face.

"It is so. It seems you studied well." The dwarf king closed his eyes and squared his shoulders, seeming to brace himself. "Ask again, but not for the Axe." Bilbo gathered his faith, said a final prayer to the Green Lady, took a deep breath, and jumped.

"Then if you will not give me the Axe, as my boon I ask this. Marry me, Thorin, as you were destined to do, and whether I am allowed to be your Consort or not, let me be your husband. For the High Council cannot set aside your honor or your life... and I do love you." Thorin's eyes flew open, and Bilbo watched the progression of thoughts across his face as clearly as if he shouted them, first shock and disbelief, then comprehension, and finally joy, radiant and blinding. Ori was grinning but Nar was laughing, loud and open, looking at the furious councilors and guffawing like he had just heard the best joke of his entire life. The councilors were all ashen-faced as Thorin stood up from his throne and spoke, deep voice echoing through the room.

"I will grant this boon, and gladly, for you are my One and my heart. We shall be wed with haste, as soon as it may be properly arranged." Turning to cast a bitter eye at the High Council, Thorin smiled triumphantly. "For it must involve a coronation, _azyungel_. You _will_ be my Consort." Thorin extended his hand, and Bilbo stepped forward and took it. He pulled the hobbit forward to the throne, and took him in his arms and kissed him deeply. Many in the crowd of dwarves behind Bilbo cheered for the sheer romance of it all, though there were plenty of sounds of confusion mixed in with the cheering. Thorin looked deep into Bilbo's eyes, and smiled. In a quiet voice, pitched for the hobbit's ears alone, he said "See? I told you that you would make a very good dwarf, _azyungel_," and Bilbo blushed to the tips of his ears. Thorin then urged him to one side and spoke in a louder tone that filled the entire hall. "And I say now what I should have said before. My betrothed, soon to be my consort, Bilbo Baggins, son of Bungo Baggins, of the Shire, shall from this moment be considered to be a part of the House of Durin, equal to myself. Anyone who harms him, even to the hairs on his feet, shall be known as a traitor to the king and the realm, shorn of their beard, slain, and left to the sky, and they shall find no burial in stone. Any attack on him is an attack on me, and if any seek to harm him, I shall find them and they shall die in shame and their family will know disgrace. I, Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, of the Line of Durin say this. Let it be recorded."

Ori spoke from where he sat, saying "It is heard and written," but his words were difficult to understand because he was grinning from ear to ear. Standing, Ori said "Your pardon, good people, but in light of events, this session of open court must close. Your petitions will be addressed in the next court in three days time." The horn sounded, and Bilbo and Thorin left together arm in arm.


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sacrifice, a wedding, a party and a joining. The end.

Only two weeks had passed since the fateful day in Thorin's first court, but it felt like an age of the earth. The High Council was in disgrace among the common people of the mountain for attempting to keep a dwarf from his One (even though that rule didn't apply to kings, as the more knowledgeable kept pointing out). Bilbo had made an awkward apology to Dis and her response was to sweep him into a hug that almost squeezed him to death; after that, it seemed like nothing had happened. Most interesting of all, Ori had been present at the most recent open court when the delegation of Iron Hills dwarves were finally presented to Thorin. The young Chamberlain and one of the Iron Hills guards had taken one look at each other, flushed to the very roots of their hair, and dropped what was in their hands. Ori's pen hadn't made much clatter, though the inkstain took some cleaning, but it was hard to miss the sound of the giant war mattock crashing to the floor. Thorin smirked, Bilbo smiled, and everyone knew what was about to happen, but they saved the teasing until the courtship was declared. Bilbo and Thorin maintained strictly proper decorum in public, but everyone knew by now not to knock at the door after the two had retired for the night; Bilbo was getting the lessons he had requested, and had never been more delighted to learn new skills.

The day before the wedding, Bilbo dragged Thorin out of the mountain to go place offerings at the feet of the Green Lady. He had spent two days in the kitchens with Bombur, making special celebration loaves that were offered at weddings and birthings by hobbits after spending the previous week scouring Erebor and Dale for the necessary ingredients. As they toiled up the slope with guards, Thorin was grumbling and ignoring the increasingly irritated expression on the face of his hobbit. "I know you said it was a Shire custom, _azyungel_," he sighed, "but Balin is about to set fire to my beard if I don't get the trade delegation their signed agreements before the wedding, and Dis thinks that five minutes without a tailor standing in my pocket is wasted. For that matter, I can't believe she let you out of her sight, she's been nattering on about your clothes for days." Bilbo eyed the guards around them and gritted his teeth, lips pressed into a thin line.

"Be that as it may," he said quietly but firmly, "I feel that the Green Lady has quite literally moved mountains to get me here and to the point where I can marry you, no thanks to half of Erebor. The least we can do is go and make these offerings before our wedding." He shifted the heavy bag on his back, bringing back memories of carrying a load of gear and that huge, awkward sword across half of Eriador. He huffed and reseated the straps, thankful that at least they would have plenty to eat tonight and reminding himself for the fifth or sixth time since leaving his chambers that bearing this burden was as much a part of the offering as the cakes in his bag.

"It's not that I don't..." Thorin began, but finally looked up and saw the expression on Bilbo's face. He held up a placatory hand, but Bilbo's glare was unappeased.

"Come along, _my love_," the hobbit said in a sharp tone, "sooner started, sooner finished, yes?" Thorin, reading the subtext in this, smiled and nodded as though Bilbo had said something brilliant, earning him a narrow look but the hobbit shook his head and continued up the steep slope. When they crested the ridge, he saw that there had been substantial progress on the gardens. Now the statue was surrounded by a planting of rosebushes, though the winter temperatures were responsible for the bundled appearance of the recently planted shrubs. Other plots of disturbed ground showed where plantings were being made and seeds were sown for the coming spring. The carving was still merely a roughed-out shape in the niche facing Yavanna, and Bilbo wasn't able to tell if it was supposed to be Mahal or someone else, but he supposed it didn't matter at the moment. He and Thorin walked to the center area, motioning for the guards to stay at the steps.

"Green Lady," he said aloud for Thorin's benefit, "tomorrow is my... our... wedding day. We give thanks for whatever aid you have given us and for the gifts of the earth you provide us, and all the blessings you bestow..." Bilbo felt himself choking up and clutched at Thorin's hand. Finally he just began pulling out loaves and other foods and arranging them at the base of the statue. Thorin's eyebrows went up as more and still more emerged, cakes and biscuits and other baked goods heaped at the feet of the shrine. Finally Bilbo had them arranged artistically to his satisfaction. He knelt, and after a guilty glance at the probably scandalized guards, Thorin did also. Bilbo prayed silently this time, thanking her for all the blessings he had experienced, for the food that he ate, and most of all for the dwarf by his side, a gift from her husband but doubtless from her as well. As they stood a familiar presence swept over him, and he smiled before he even turned. Glorfindel stood there smiling in the weak winter sunlight.

"Master Baggins, we meet again, and this time I see you are not alone." Bowing to Thorin, the clear tenor voice was raised in respect. "King Thorin, I am honored to meet you. I am Glorfindel, currently of Rivendell, but I came to admire your gardens and offer what small help I might to aid the gardeners." He smiled, and the king squinted at him, recognizing that there was something different about the elf but clearly unsure as to what exactly the difference might be. Bilbo decided it might be wise to head off Thorin's usual scowl and rudeness when dealing with elves, just in case.

"I am so glad you have not departed yet, my lord." Thorin's eyes cut to Bilbo in surprise at hearing the title. "Tomorrow is our wedding day, and your advice proved invaluable. Please, I beg you, say that you will come and celebrate with us. I... we... will vouch for your safety in the mountain." Glorfindel chuckled, but his face was uncertain.

"Such advice as I gave was useless to one without the knowledge to use it. I must congratulate you both, then, and I do. Love is a joy, and should be seized wherever it can be found. I am also delighted that you have a shrine to Yavanna here; I think you will find that her blessing helps the mountain in many ways, some clear and some secret. The last such shrine was built in what is now the ruin of Hollin for and by the dwarves of Moria, and aided them much until the evil came. I saw them coming there often when I dwelt among Galadriel's court." Thorin's eyes widened.

"You... you walked in Khazad-Dum?" he said, suddenly impressed. Glorfindel gave one of his cheerful laughs.

"Yes, great king, I was within the halls of your fathers some few times, though as I told your husband-to-be, I do not care for the deep places. Many of the harshest events of my long life have taken place beneath the stone. The woods and hills are my preferred place, beneath the stars and open skies. But to answer your question... My two longest visits to the halls of Durin were at the coronation of the third coming of Durin, and again during the reign of Dain IV Brasstongue at the invitation of Loremaster Frain. The king's epithet was no lie; his reputation for rude speech was well deserved," he said with a chuckle.

The king's expression was more suited to a fascinated child than the ruler of a dwarven kingdom. "Master Elf, you must indeed come to the wedding, at least to the celebration. I would very much enjoy hearing more from you of what you saw there, whom you may have met, and my chamberlain Ori would value any information you could provide, no matter how trifling it may seem. As Bilbo said, we will guarantee your safety and provide anything that might ease your way." Glorfindel laughed easily and openly, throwing back his head.

"I yield, I yield. I confess myself overthrown; I will attend your wedding. I beg you, do not think me rude if I stay but a short time, but I will come." He bowed to them. "And until the morrow, I will say farewell. Congratulations again to you both. To see such brilliant love in a world so old and tired is a true blessing of Eru Iluvatar." He vanished in the same way as he had the first time Bilbo saw him, leaving a stunned Thorin staring at the space where he had been.

Turning to Bilbo in wonder, Thorin said "I knew they lived forever, but... to think that he has walked in Khazad-Dum!" Bilbo laughed gently and stroked Thorin's hair, figuring that the guards were far enough away that he could get away with it.

"Thorin, my love... Glorfindel was born in Valinor in the west, in the days of the Trees, before the Sun and the Moon were hung in the sky. He has met Yavanna in person, and Mahal himself, and many others of the Valar. He died fighting a balrog of Morgoth to save others, and he came back from death. He is older than Durin the Deathless, and is one of the most powerful beings to walk in Arda today. And now he is coming to our wedding." He laughed at Thorin's utterly horrified expression. " Let us return to our preparations, now that our offerings have been made and..." he turned to his dwarf with dancing eyes and a mischievous expression, "aren't you glad I made you come on this terribly bothersome errand?" Thorin's loud scoff made the guards turn and look, and Bilbo's delighted laughter persisted practically to the main gates.

As soon as they set foot inside the Royal Quarter, Dis swept them both up in a tornado of scolding and preparation, and that was all they saw of each other until they crept into bed, too tired to do much more than kiss and huddle together before falling asleep. The next day they were carried off in different directions, Dis hauling Bilbo to the tailors for the final round of fittings for his wedding garb and Ori taking Thorin to the temple for some inscrutable dwarven ritual. By the time the noon bell rang, Bilbo was completely cross and out of sorts. He had barely eaten, but now that he was clad head to toe in finery, he dared not go near anything that could make the slightest mess; he finally sat gnawing on a piece of bread and ruminating sourly on all the ways in which his life could be much simpler if he had never answered his door that fateful night in the Shire. Dis bustled through, dropping complaints in her train like dew, and he pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose and reminded himself that he truly, really, honestly did love Thorin more than he ever thought possible. And it was considered impolite in every society to kill the family members of your beloved, he was very sure, unless perhaps it was a custom among the orcs. Somehow, despite time's determination to move at a snail's pace, it was suddenly time to go to the temple.

Bilbo had at first thought that the statue of Mahal in the Great Market was the primary shrine, but Ori had set him straight on the matter. When he first went to the Library with the new Chamberlain, he saw how mistaken he had been. The Temple of Mahal was the centerpiece of the Library, Scriptorium and Chancery, and it was so vast that Bilbo was amazed that so much of the mountain could be hollowed out safely. Nar told him that it was an expanded natural cavern, but the rows and tiers of bench seats leading down to the enormous statue put the hobbit's previous ideas of 'large' to the test. Twenty thousand dwarves could sit here, he was told, once again reminding him that the entire Shire's population could easily fit into the mountain. Gems were everywhere, glittering in the light of the omnipresent lamps, and the wide flat area before the main altar was usually filled with small knots of dwarves studying, praying, arguing and moving from place to place. Today, however, the marriage preparations had cleared the space. The High Council was seated in stone chairs to witness the ceremony (and much joy may they have of it, Bilbo thought, feeling a bit spiteful but thinking it anyway). Other important dignitaries were seated in rows of almost-thrones set up fanning back to the first rows of amphitheatre seating stepping up into the heights. An anvil had been set up in front of the main image of Mahal, seeming tiny in front of the enormous statue, but draped with cloth of gold and strands of gems to denote its importance. One thin strip of white samite was laid across the anvil with ends trailing almost to the floor. Off to one side was hung a tall smooth cylinder inscribed with runes which Bilbo had been told was the bell of Mahal, but which just looked like a chunk of metal to him; it didn't even look hollow. Most odd to Bilbo was that there were no flowers anywhere; he couldn't imagine a Shire wedding without loads of blossoms, but here, all was gold and gems. Ori was walking behind the anvil preparing to act as officiant since both Thorin and Bilbo had flatly refused to allow Loremaster Imalek to conduct the ceremony, custom be damned. The crowds swirling everywhere didn't draw his attention, nor did the various individuals seated in the thrones, but Bilbo did notice Glorfindel sitting in the front row looking vaguely discomfited; in spite of his discomfort, he smiled and nodded to the hobbit. Then Bilbo saw Thorin.

Clad in the mirror image of the clothes Bilbo was wearing, Thorin was in a deep blue tunic with white piping. The Raven Crown was on his head, and a short cloak of white with blue embroidery covered his shoulders. The raven of his personal sign faced the stars and anvil of Durin, all embroidered in royal blue thread and woven through with gold and silver. His tunic was embroidered with lines of tiny seed pearls where Bilbo's had sapphires, and vice versa. For the first time since the early days of their journey together, Thorin had no courting braid in his hair, and Bilbo had the beads of marriage in his pocket. It gave him a pang to see the familiar braid missing, though he knew he would be putting in better ones soon enough. Thorin's eyes reflected Bilbo's own feelings back, and he was embarrassed at the strength of his own adoration for the dwarf standing in front of him. My whole life has changed, the hobbit thought. I could have gone my whole life without this, not knowing why I was miserable or what was missing, and yet somehow I have been blessed enough to come to this moment. Walking up to his beloved, he smiled up at Thorin and knew that his eyes were windows into his heart; Thorin's were the same. _ I love you_, he whispered, not even knowing if he could be heard, but Thorin's eyes glittered in the light and he repeated it back before Ori began the ceremony. They linked hands and rested them on the anvil, which Bilbo saw had the symbol of Durin engraved into the side. A hidden horn blew, deep and powerful, the note silencing everyone in the enormous hall with its throbbing sound.

"_Hrum_!" the Chamberlain practically shouted, and the assembled dwarves of Erebor repeated it back, and so the ceremony began. It was all in Khuzdul, of course, and Bilbo was reminded of the coronation. He didn't have the luxury of passively watching this time, however; he had painstakingly memorized two short phrases of Khuzdul, and had to watch for his cues to repeat them back. Ori chanted a short portion of the Tale of Narvi and Celenae, which Thorin had chosen as the obvious text for the wedding, then there were songs, drums, horns, more songs... on and on. Thorin set the mithril coronet on Bilbo's hair to crown him Consort, and Bilbo remembered his phrases and spoke them at the appropriate times, earning a small smile and a nod from Ori and a look of such burning pride from Thorin that he could have melted into a glowing pool of love on the spot. They set braids in each other's hair with mithril beads, marking them as wed to each other. Finally Ori took the strip of white cloth and bound their hands together atop the anvil. Thorin and Bilbo leaned together across the anvil and pressed their lips together chastely as what sounded like the entire mountain cheered and whooped as though the assembled dwarves were one giant being. Thorin and Bilbo paced over to the bell with their hands still tied. As they walked with slow, deliberate steps, Bilbo glanced over at the councilors as they passed and noticed Imalek looking ready to die of apoplexy. With a faint smile, he recited the three words of commitment along with Thorin, and they pressed their tied hands to the bell.

For a long, chilling moment there was silence, and Bilbo heard a gasp of breath from somewhere behind him. Then slowly, faintly at first, a ringing began that swelled and grew until the mountain seemed to be shaking. After only a few seconds, it had become overwhelmingly, preposterously loud. In that moment, with the ringing of the bell, the hobbit felt his beloved's mind blend with his own, knowing him in a way he had never imagined knowing someone else. All of Thorin's hopes, fears, wishes, and dreams were exposed, and Bilbo knew that the same was true for him. Thorin was seeing him utterly naked, all of his strengths and weaknesses, love and compassion and pettiness and everything else were laid out and exposed. He saw Thorin's pride, his fury, his strength of character, his love for his people, his impatience and heroism and all his gnawing insecurities. Most of all, he saw the king's love for him; the burning core of the star that was Thorin, infusing everything else he thought and did. Never again could the hobbit even think of doubting his beloved's feelings, and he could tell from Thorin's face that the same was true for him. He could have never imagined being at peace with such a thing but he was completely content; he offered himself to Thorin, as Thorin was offering himself to Bilbo. The sound grew and grew until the hobbit thought he was part of the sound, he and Thorin and the sound were all just aspects of one single thing. It seemed as if there had never been any sound but the bell. Eventually the ringing faded, leaving Bilbo and Thorin standing there together, staring at each other, cherishing that perfect moment of absolute understanding. Once the ringing had faded, the whole mountain said "_Hrum_", practically in one voice. Immediately afterwards even more cheering began, and if Bilbo had thought that the first cheer was loud, this was almost as loud as the bell. A grinning Ori struck the anvil with a hammer, and the ceremony was ended.

Bilbo felt like he was waking from a dream. He could still feel the memory of Thorin in his mind, and looking at his love's dazed face, he could tell the feeling was mutual. Despite that, though, he walked over to Glorfindel as soon as he could to make sure that all was well. The elf seemed both melancholy and amused. "My warmest congratulations Master Baggins, or should I call you Highness now? At any rate I was quite caught by surprise by the bell... I haven't heard or felt that sound since I came from the West, and I was unprepared. I fear you have made me a touch homesick." The elf smiled merrily, but his eyes remained sad. "With a testimony like that, how anyone could doubt that you were born to be together is a mystery. I suspect that was heard even in Gondor." Thorin came over and bowed, shocking the dwarves who stood around, but Glorfindel turned to him and said "Congratulations to you as well, great king, and long may you reign together! That was a tremendous display." Before Thorin could respond, the elf leaned in close as though to impart a great secret. "And by request of your consort, I must tell you that the statue of Aule in your Great Market is a fairly good likeness." Laughing, he walked away, leaving a blushing, stammering Bilbo to explain the statement. Bilbo got his revenge shortly, however; he introduced Glorfindel to Ori, and mentioned that he had visited Khazad-Dum. After that it was easy to abandon the increasingly bewildered elf to the flood of questions from the young Chamberlain.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of faces and barely-tasted but highly praised food. Congratulations were received from most and thinly-veiled insults from a few, but even those hid their disapproval behind politeness, so firmly was general opinion in the hobbit's camp. As the feast dragged on, Bilbo finally cornered Ori and met his Iron Hills guard. Mabuk son of Maruk turned out to be both friendly and quite handsome in an exotic way, with very dark hair and skin and curious amber colored eyes that reminded Bilbo of a large cat. Remembering how Ori had laughed over his pining for Thorin, he proceeded to be as dwarvish as he could by telling embarrassing stories about Ori's fascination with courtship and romance until the young Scribe was burning red and laughingly threatening Bilbo with a meat skewer. At this point Thorin wandered over and, by way of introduction, asked Bilbo loudly "So are they courting yet?" The ensuing fracas was amusing to everyone except Ori and Mabuk.

Some time later, Bilbo was standing at a table covered with food and staring at it blankly. He wished he knew where Thorin was, but he had spoken to so many people and the room was so large that he felt quite turned around and not particularly hungry. A deep voice murmured in his ear "You appear lost, Master Baggins." Warm breath caressed his throat and a short beard tickled the side of his neck. "I think you look as though you should retire for the night. I understand there is a dwarven king expecting you for... lessons... and it is impolite to keep royalty waiting." Bilbo leaned back into a solid chest covered by brocade, twisting around to see the smiling face of his husband.

"Lessons sound lovely, though I'm afraid that tonight I'm too stupid to learn much. I hope the king won't be disappointed in me," he replied, eyes twinkling merrily.

"I cannot imagine that anyone so lovely and talented could ever disappoint, nor can I imagine someone so clever being the slightest bit stupid," was the response as Thorin's teeth nibbled at the side of Bilbo's ear. The hobbit's breath caught for a moment in a soft moan. "Perhaps it is time to retire and give the king what he wants." Bilbo turned and met lazy bedroom eyes with his own burning gaze.

"I think it is. I wouldn't dream of depriving a king." Slipping out of the room was the matter of a moment, with everyone so busy celebrating that the two were able to duck out the door and flee down the hall to the Consort's Chambers. "Thorin," the hobbit began as they closed the door, "I want..." The king was on him before he could complete his sentence, wrapping his arms around him from behind and moaning into his dark blond curls. Bilbo flung himself around as they kissed almost like fighting from wanting each other so fiercely. Elegant wedding clothes were flung here and there in a trail from the door to the bed, leaving them naked on the quilts and writhing together. Bilbo's hands were flying across the form of his beloved, fingers never tiring of access to the shape he had looked at for so long under clothes and was never able to touch. Even in the past few weeks the novelty hadn't worn off; every time he saw Thorin naked, it was new again, with the thought "this is for me!" hanging in his head like receiving the best gift of his life all over again each night.

As he had begun doing, Thorin slid down the bed to press his lips to Bilbo's secret place, demonstrating the skilled tongue that left the hobbit breathless and crying night after night. He would stop occasionally just long enough to bite one of the small, perfect cheeks to one side or another, causing the hobbit to rear up, then return to his task. Blowing his breath across the wet surfaces, the king enjoyed the sobbing moans this produced. Slipping a finger inside, he reveled in the shocking warmth inside the hobbit's body. Tonight, though, Bilbo looked back and said simply "More." He slid a second finger first into his mouth to wet it, then slowly eased it in. Hobbits were surprisingly resilient in certain areas, Bilbo had discovered in the past few weeks, but he still felt the stretch. When Thorin's fingers began exploring, though, he jumped and bucked on them as they found what he had begun thinking of as the magic spot. This time, Bilbo was determined that it wouldn't end the same way it had in the past. "More," he said softly, and Thorin made a questioning noise. Looking down, hazel eyes meeting blue, he smiled sharply. "You know what I want, Thorin. Give it to me."

"Mahal... _azyungel_, are you sure?" Thorin looked shocked but also so aroused that Bilbo knew he had made the right decision. The hobbit nodded, certain, but still felt a certain nervousness.

"Quite sure. Never been more certain, really. Just... please go slow?" Thorin was shaking with nerves and excitement, but moved up the bed, kissing Bilbo fiercely and pressing him into the bed. Moving back, he slotted himself into position, pressing just the tip against the furled spot which had opened so nicely moments ago to his fingers. Slowly, achingly slowly, Thorin sank inside to a warmth he had never dared hope he might feel. Bilbo's breath caught. He felt a bit of pain, but it was an odd pain; not sharp, just a dull ache, an unpleasant fullness that was inching further into him and becoming steadily more pleasant as each moment passed. Suddenly, Thorin's member eased across the magic spot and Bilbo's vision flashed white. "Yes! Yes, there, oh Thorin..." he cried out, tossing his head back and forth. Thorin pulled back ever so slightly and forward again, repeating the motion and the hobbit's keening whine went through him like a knife. "Give... give..." was all Bilbo could say, and the sight of him splayed out on the bed, limbs sprawled and sweat at his temples, eyes closed and mouth gaping in lust was the most erotic sight the dwarf could ever have imagined.

He gradually encouraged Thorin to move, to slide in further, to give a bit more, and Bilbo grew accustomed to the size and weight and thrust of it. Minutes stretched by like hours as Thorin gradually sped up, pressing himself into the small body beneath him and hearing Bilbo's gasps and whines like sensual music in his ears. Bilbo could tell by the tension in Thorin's body that there was a climax building; he wanted it but found it unwelcome only because he wanted this to last forever. He shivered as Thorin murmured "_Azyungel_..." into the pointed ear at his lips.

"Thorin, yes, my love, give me... give me everything," Bilbo panted and with that Thorin's climax seized him in spite of himself. Shuddering and gasping, he flooded and spent himself in the body of his husband, and Bilbo cried out at the sensation and fell over the edge as well, his inner walls pulsing around Thorin's organ.

"You are the most amazing being I have ever known, _azyungel_..." Thorin whispered into his ear. "I never would have believed..." Moving aside, he lay down beside the hobbit and lazily traced his fingers along his lover's spine, eliciting little shivers from Bilbo.

Bilbo rolled a tired but pleased eye over at his husband. "I knew I could, and so I did. Really, Thorin, I won't break. You must learn to trust me on these things." He grabbed Thorin's other arm, tugging on it until the dwarf was wrapped around him like a quilt. Sighing happily, he snuggled against the furnace-like heat of his husband's naked body. "I would say I learned that lesson quite well."

Thorin's chuckle vibrated through the hobbit's whole body. "Amazingly well."

"Now I want to learn what it feels like from the other side." Bilbo grinned over at his exhausted dwarf, whose eyebrows had just gone up. "After all, there's always something new to learn."

"I look forward to studying with you, my heart," was all Thorin could say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An overwhelming thank you to all of you who have come with me on this epic journey! I appreciate you from the depths of my heart, and your kudos, comments and insightful observations are the only thing that made it possible for me to finish this work, by far the longest thing I've ever written. I love you all, and wish you all the joy that Bilbo found with Thorin!
> 
> <3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3


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